A Sorcerer's Heart
by firefly.1212
Summary: Mordred is destined to kill Arthur and Merlin is determined to stop him. But what if Merlin was the one in danger? Merlin/Mordred and Arthur/Gwen with hints of Merlin/Arthur.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

The boy stood at the edge of the lake, watching the dark ripples rush against the shore. He felt the loose silt shift under his feet as the tide dragged it back, and shuddered as the icy water made contact with his bare skin.

The trees surrounding the lake were still and quiet. It seemed like the entire forest was on edge tonight, sharing the anticipation he felt building somewhere deep in his gut.

A sharp sound like the snap of a twig drew his attention to the fringe of trees to the left of where he stood. In the dimness he could see nothing but their outlines and the shadows between their closely-packed trunks, but he didn't need to rely on his eyes. The prickle of a familiar presence was like a faint itch at the base of his skull. He closed his eyes to focus on it, allowing his other senses to take over as she drew closer.

She was moving cautiously after her earlier mistake: her small feet made no noise on the soft earth. Her musky scent was somewhat comforting even from a distance, though it was tainted with something else sharp and metallic. Her consciousness bore no signs of pain, and he briefly wondered about the source of the blood on her coat.

He felt her pause under the shadow of an elm right at the forest's edge. He almost felt the air stir as she cocked her head, gauging whether it was safe to approach.

"You're late," he told her.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the she-wolf flinch. Half of her body remained concealed by trees, but her head and shoulders were clearly visible by the light of the moon. Her pale coat gleamed like silver. Her ears twitched back and forth, her attention switching from the forest behind her to the dark-haired adolescent watching her from the shoreline. The short hair around her muzzle was unusually dark. Something limp and lifeless was clamped between her jaws.

He extended his left hand towards her, palm up, inviting her to come closer. Her instincts would warn her to keep her distance, but he knew she knew better than that.

With one last glance behind her, the she-wolf loped across the short distance to her master's side. She was breathing heavily through her nostrils, encumbered by the gift she had brought for him and the exertion of a long, thrilling chase. She carefully laid the prize at his feet, keeping her head low to show her submission.

The boy let out a breath through his nose, making a sound that was half irritated, half grudgingly affectionate. He had given her specific orders not to get distracted tonight, but his mouth filled with saliva at the thought of getting a freshly cooked meal.

He dragged his fingers through the thick fur on the back of the wolf's neck, tugging none-too-gently on the strands to reprimand her. She whined in protest, but didn't dare growl or bare her teeth at him. She was far stronger than him - a gangly, slightly underweight teenager was no match for a hundred pounds of solid muscle - but challenging him would be utterly pointless. He would have her on the ground writhing in agony in less time than it took for her to sink her teeth into his flesh.

Turning his back on the lake, the boy turned his gaze to a rocky outcropping visible just above the trees to the south. A trail led directly from the lake to the base of the rock face, and from there made its meandering way up the steep incline to the mouth of a cave that was invisible from ground level unless you knew to look for it. They both knew their way to the cave by heart, and would have no trouble reaching it even as the moon began to set in the next couple of hours.

The she-wolf led the climb up the hill, holding the rabbit firmly between her teeth. The path was narrow and uncertain, and in some places completely invisible, but they made it to the cave mouth without any mishap. In the fading light the cave was little more than a black smudge on the wall rising before them.

The wolf trotted inside without hesitation, but the boy paused on the edge of the outcrop. He lifted his chin to let a cool breeze blow across his face, fighting back a smile as satisfaction began to well inside him. He curled his trembling fingers into fists. Months of preparation had been leading up to this. Every last detail had been painstakingly planned and calculated so that nothing could go wrong, and at last it was time to set his plan in motion.

"Master Tirius?"

Aliana stood at the mouth of the cave; her human hair was the same colour as her fur when she was in wolf form, but the wolf's dark eyes were gone and startling blue ones had taken their place. Her feet were bare and her dress hung in tatters from her body. Her pale skin seemed to emit an ethereal glow despite the layers of grime it had accumulated from weeks spent living in the forest. Tirius would have found her beautiful if his mind wasn't occupied by other, more important things.

"Is it ready?" he asked her.

The young woman inclined her head. "Everything is in place. All we need now is Emrys."

"He will come soon enough. A few days after we plead our case to Bayard, Arthur and his knights will arrive in Mercia for the celebrations. Emrys will follow his king like a faithful dog, and it won't be long before he is cowering at my feet."

"Then you shall finally be freed, my master," Aliana said. Tirius heard the quiver in her soft voice as clearly as if she was speaking directly into his ear.

He turned his back on her to gaze out across the forest. The moon had disappeared, and the faint light of dawn had begun to seep into the sky above the distant hills. The wind blew up from the south, carrying the sounds of forest creatures awakening and emerging from their homes outside the walls of Camelot.

Tirius spoke softly into the wind, baring his teeth in a predatory grin. "Soon, Emrys. Soon you shall be mine."


	2. Chapter 2

**I.**

The anniversary of the treaty signed by Uther Pendragon and Bayard of Mercia was arguably the most important day of the year. The two kingdoms took it in turns to host a great feast in honour of the peace, and it wasn't uncommon for the festivities to continue well into the following week.

This year, Arthur and Guinevere would make the journey to Mercia accompanied by a selection of Camelot's finest and most worthy knights. Of course, Merlin was obligated to go along and attend to his master's every need.

"This isn't a holiday, _Mer_lin," Arthur had reminded him sternly. "It's a very important event for both kingdoms, not a chance for you to get on the cider."

Merlin had settled for rolling his eyes, because pointing out how much Arthur tended to drink at the celebrations wasn't a good idea. He usually found a way to have a good time even while keeping one eye on the king, but he had a strong feeling that this year would be different.

In the weeks leading up to their departure, Merlin had begun to have nightmares. They had started off as little more than sinister shadows hovering at the edges of his mind as he slept, but rapidly manifested into dark, terrible beasts that lurked in every corner and caused Merlin to wake up drenched in sweat, crying out Arthur's name. Gaius' sleeping draughts hadn't helped, and the nightmares had continued to plague him, growing ever more intense as the celebrations drew nearer.

On the morning of their departure, he noticed Gwen throwing concerned glances at him as he stuffed last minute items into Arthur's saddlebags. A quick look in the mirror confirmed the impossible state of his hair and the ugly purple shadows beneath his eyes. There must have been something in his expression that kept Gwen from prying – she seemed to have a sixth sense for when people were in need of comfort. He didn't miss the shoving motions she made at Arthur, and the clueless look he gave her in return.

The king's mind was set on only one thing that morning, and it certainly wasn't Merlin.

When the packing was done, Merlin politely excused himself in favour of retreating to the stables, where the company was a little less overbearing. He took his time saddling Arthur and Gwen's horses, and the sweet, comforting smell of hay slowly calmed him. He would have to face Gwen's interrogation sooner or later, but in the darkened stall he was relatively safe for the time being.

The images he had seen in the pool had haunted Merlin's every waking hour since his meeting with the Vates. The pure, burning hatred in the young Druid's eyes was so intense that even the memory made his skull ache. Now those eyes were present in his sleeping mind as well, resolving to torment him constantly.

Arthur was making a mistake letting Mordred accompany him to Mercia, Merlin was sure of it. His instincts were screaming at him to put a stop to it, but Arthur had countered every one of his protests and eventually silenced him with a cold, calculating stare that left Merlin feeling like his insides had been scooped out with a sharpened spoon. After all that they had been through together, Merlin wasn't stupid enough to ignore that look.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do about all this. If I take my eyes off Arthur for one second during this trip, Mordred will take his chance." Merlin closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall of the stall. He was so, so tired. "Arthur's just too blind to see what Mordred's really like."

Llamrei snorted and shook her mane, seeming to agree with Merlin's jibe at her master. Smiling, Merlin patted her glossy neck. "I'm glad you think so."

"Merlin?"

The sound of his name caused Merlin to jump two feet into the air. Gwaine poked his head over the stable door and gestured towards the courtyard. "His royal Highness is wondering where the horses are."

"I'll bet he didn't express it so politely," Merlin grumbled, taking hold of Llamrei's reins and following Gwaine out into the sunlight. Arthur appeared beside him in an instant, seemingly out of nowhere, and swung himself into the saddle without so much as a pause.

Merlin was the last to mount up, and by the time he was settled Arthur had led the party halfway down to the lower town. "I have a really bad feeling about this," Merlin muttered as he urged his horse into canter in order to catch up.

The first day of their journey passed slowly and without much mishap. The weather was perfect for riding; a light breeze ruffled their hair and the sunbeams filtering down through the canopy transformed their surroundings into a breathtaking collage of greens and browns. The rhythmic plodding of the horses' hooves accompanied the knights' idle chatter about feasts from previous years.

Arthur and Gwen rode at the head of the procession and Merlin brought up the rear riding side by side with Gwaine. It didn't take long for Gwaine to catch on to Merlin's bleak mood - it must have been written all over his face.

"What's wrong?" asked the knight, nudging his horse closer to Merlin's so the others wouldn't overhear.

"Nothing," Merlin replied. He really didn't feel like talking, but Gwaine's concern was touching. "I'm just tired, that's all."

Gwaine peered into his face as though judging the level of truth behind his statement. "You look like you haven't slept in weeks," he admitted.

"Feels like I haven't," Merlin said with a rueful smile.

Gwaine's voice dropped to a whisper. "Is it something to do with Arthur?"

Merlin shrugged. Gwaine had been the first one to find out about Merlin's feelings for Arthur, and one of the only people to know about the brief relationship between the two of them. The knight was actually very good at keeping secrets when the need arose. Still, Merlin couldn't bring himself to divulge information about his nightmares to anyone other than Gaius.

"Hey, if you don't want to tell me then I won't pester you. Just try not to be in a bad mood all week, eh? You deserve to have some fun for once," Gwaine said good-naturedly.

"I think Arthur might disagree with you there."

Gwaine silenced the matter with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Let's talk about something else other than Arthur. You, my friend, need cheering up. Did I ever tell you about the time I…"

Merlin was sure that most of the stories Gwaine told him during their ride weren't even half true, but he found himself enjoying the theatrics all the same. Gwaine's energy was contagious: by the time they stopped to camp for the night, the lower half of Merlin's face ached from grinning.

As Gwaine turned away to help Percival pitch the tents, Merlin noticed Arthur's horse was tethered close by, and that her master had seen him smiling like a complete fool.

"What are you looking so happy about?" Arthur asked. He didn't say it nastily – in fact he sounded genuinely curious – but Merlin felt his cheeks turn red as though he and Gwaine had been caught doing something untoward.

_Don't say anything that would make him ask more questions. _"Oh, nothing in particular. I was just thinking about our arrival in Mercia tomorrow evening."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Well, don't get too excited. Remember you're still my manservant on this trip."

"Of course, sire."

"Oh, and Merlin?"

"Yes?"

The king bit his lip, as if he wasn't quite sure what he had been planning to say. Merlin tried very hard to keep his eyes from straying to Arthur's mouth as he waited for him to speak. "Guinevere will be pleased to know you're smiling again," he said at last.

"I'm glad," Merlin said trying his level best not to let his shoulders droop too much.

Arthur cleared his throat, effectively drawing attention to the awkwardness of the short conversation. "Well then, get a fire going, would you? I want to catch us some food before it gets too dark."

The sun had set and the fire was crackling nicely by the time Arthur returned from hunting with Leon, Gwaine and Percival. Merlin and Gwen had set a cooking pot to boil and were eagerly awaiting the arrival of a couple of rabbits to make into a stew, but the only thing the hunting party had brought with them was the disheartening news that the woods seemed to be void of game for more than five miles in any direction.

"That's very strange," Gwen said with a frown.

Arthur nodded. "We tracked no fewer than five deer and countless rabbits in this area barely three months ago. Now there isn't so much as a trampled blade of grass for miles, it seems."

Gwen shook her head. "There must be an explanation." She spoke calmly but her eyes were disturbed.

Merlin's mind was racing. Gwen was right, there _had_ to be a plausible explanation. If there had been a fire, the scars left behind would be obvious. The location was too remote to be a popular hunting spot, and there weren't many predators around – certainly not enough to wipe out an entire population in just a few months.

_Could it be sorcery?_

As soon as the thought entered Merlin's head, he roughly pushed it away. What reason would any sorcerer have for killing so many innocent animals? He'd spent too much time listening to Uther's rants when the old king had been alive.

"It doesn't matter," Gwen said, this time in a soothing tone meant to reassure her husband as well as herself. "I'm sure it won't make much difference if the rabbit stew doesn't actually have any rabbits in it."

Merlin sat quietly by the fire whilst the others tucked into the stew. It would have been a lot more satisfying if it had consisted of more than a handful of carrots, a few cabbage leaves and water, but the knights seemed to appreciate the effort he and Gwen had made nonetheless. He accepted polite compliments with a wan smile, his own bowl sitting untouched in his lap.

Once the stew was gone, the party began to drift away from the fire and into their respective tents. There were ten in total, and each one was big enough for two or three knights to sleep comfortably, albeit a little too close together. The master tent was large enough for four or five knights but housed only Arthur and Gwen. It was set a little way apart from the rest of the group; Arthur claimed the knights' snoring kept him awake. No one dared to point out that Arthur was the one that snored loudly enough to wake the dead.

Instead of retiring to his own tent, Merlin remained seated beside the dying fire. His limbs were heavy and sore from lack of sleep and the long ride, but uneasiness made sure that any kind of peace remained a long way off. Ever since the hunting party had returned empty-handed, the stillness of the surroundings had grown more and more obvious. Even now, during the hours that the woods were usually the most alive, the silence was almost obnoxious.

Now, in the dark, the sinister question raised its ugly head: Would whatever it was that had driven the forest creatures away come after _them_?

A familiar presence pushed at the edges of Merlin's mind, yanking him out of his ominous thought process before he realised he wasn't the only one still awake.

_Emrys?_

Though he had had no trouble getting into Merlin's head, Mordred's presence was tentative and unsure, and Merlin got the feeling that he was purposefully holding himself back.

He closed his eyes. _Yes?_

The shadows shifted as Mordred stood and trudged around the fire pit to sit beside Merlin, who did his best not to flinch away from his sudden closeness. He could feel the other's magic like a pulse, and felt his own begin to stir and respond. Mordred offered him a questioning smile and gestured vaguely at the two of them.

Against his better judgement, Merlin inclined his head. He had been a servant long enough to know that refusing a knight would land him in the stocks, and maybe that behaviour was just too deeply ingrained into his subconscious for his own good.

_I'm glad Arthur let me come with you,_ Mordred said as he shifted closer still.

The night air was pleasantly mild, but the skin under Merlin's collar was growing uncomfortably hot. He fought the urge to grind his teeth. _He thought you deserved it._

Mordred watched him out of the corners of his eyes, no doubt noting Merlin's choice of pronoun.

_You still don't trust me._

Merlin turned his head away. If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that having no kinsmen to confide in throughout most of his adult life was a tremendous weight on his heart. Gaius was the closest thing to a father Merlin could remember having, but the physician could never truly understand what a burden Merlin's powers could be.

Part of him longed to reach out to Mordred, but he couldn't ignore what the Vates had shown him any more than he could ignore his own thoughts.

Outside the circle of firelight, shadows moved and twisted disconcertingly. Something dark and unfathomable lurked between the closely-packed tree trunks; it made the hairs on Merlin's neck stand up, though he couldn't have explained why. He could feel Mordred's body beside him, shifting as he breathed. The distance between them was almost nonexistent, and Merlin was thankful for the darkness that hid the straining tendons in his neck.

Arthur and Gwen's tent was little more than a lumpy shadow in the darkness. Merlin's eyes seemed to find it of their own accord, and he quickly looked in the opposite direction. The thought of them being so close to each other in that small space made him feel ill.

_You still care for him, don't you? _The tenderness in Mordred's thoughts was apparent even before he spoke.

Although Mordred hadn't been in Camelot at the time of his affair with Arthur, Merlin was sure he had seen snippets of it in his memories – his very _private_ memories – more than once whilst sifting through his head.

The smugness in Mordred's thoughts was enough to confirm his suspicions. Merlin's insides twisted uncomfortably.

_Of course I care for him_, he answered tersely._ He's the king._

_It must hurt, to be treated as nothing but a servant by the one you love._ His tone was utterly sincere, but Merlin could sense mockery beneath the layers of sympathy.

_Arthur's my _friend._ Besides, he loves Gwen, and quite rightly._

_If he knew how much you have done for him, perhaps he wouldn't have been so quick to run from you and into the arms of the Queen._

_The laws of the land are absolute, _he said stiffly. _Neither of us can change that, no matter how much we may wish to do so._

Merlin's head had begun to pound. The strain of the mental link on his already exhausted mind was shockingly painful, and Mordred seemed intent on forcing him to think about and remember things he would rather forget. He wanted to curl into a pitiful ball and pretend none of it existed. Arthur. His destiny. His nightmares. Mordred. _Especially_ Mordred. It was all too hectic, and he was so very, very tired.

_Emrys – _Mordred began.

Don't_, Mordred. I did not ask for your counsel. Now please get out of my head and let me sleep._

The expression on Mordred's face was more descriptive than any Mordred had seen him wear; his eyes were round and child-like, his mouth turned down at the corners and a furious blush stained his cheeks. He got up and stomped away, leaving Merlin to feel the chill of his absence, both physical and mental, and endure the waves of guilt crashing over him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I just want to say a HUGE thank you to **Ms. Rosie**, **MoonPrancerxoxo**, **You'd Better Start Searching** and **TruffleHead** for their lovely reviews. You guys really made me smile.

Enjoy the next chapter guys. :)

* * *

**II.**

The rest of the night passed with Merlin slipping in and out of consciousness too often to feel rested. He curled into a ball on the ground and rubbed his aching eyes, wincing as his fingers probed the raw skin around them. Arthur emerged from his tent a little after dawn, and they were all back on horseback and setting off within the hour.

Mordred refused to look at him and threw up a mental blockade whenever Merlin tried to establish a connection, leaving him to fester with a stomach full of remorse and a woozy head.

A few hours into their ride, the trees began to move closer together until the procession was forced to ride single file. The air was thick and stifling in their throats, as if it was trying to choke them. Merlin gripped the reins tighter between shaking fingers. The presence of whatever he had sensed the night before was becoming stronger the closer they came to Mercia's front gates.

They stopped to rest around midday, though how Arthur could tell it was midday was a mystery; the monstrous birches and oaks all but blotted out the sun with their thick foliage. They had been following a stream for the past hour or so; Merlin used it to refill the water skins before splashing handfuls of icy water onto his face. The horses were fidgety as he led them down to drink. They were uninterested in the stream despite the long morning and stood huddled together on the shore with pricked ears and watchful eyes.

"This horse is almost as stubborn as her master today," Gwaine muttered to Merlin as they attempted to coax Llamrei into the stream. The mare shuffled forward a few paces before throwing her head up in protest, twisting her neck to look behind her at the other horses. Merlin hooked his fingers through her bridle and managed to pull her head back around, but the sudden movement made his head spin and he nearly lost his footing.

"She's never usually this jittery," he agreed with a baleful glance at the mare. The ground wobbled a bit as he massaged his temples but stayed relatively horizontal. "None of these horses are. There's something about this place that's making them nervous."

Gwaine shuddered. "It's like the forest is haunted. It's giving me the creeps."

Merlin frowned. A voice in the back of his mind had been insisting that the presence he could sense wasn't entirely human and certainly not friendly, but it definitely didn't feel dead. If the thing was as hostile as it felt, they should have been attacked by now. Merlin had a horrible feeling that their making it this far without being assaulted wasn't just luck.

Giving up, the two of them led the horses back to the spot where Gwen had built a fire and was reheating some of the leftover stew. None of the knights looked particularly enthused, but it was soon decided that the watery mush was better than no food at all and at least it kept their minds off the ominous surroundings for a short while.

"I'm not hungry, really," Merlin insisted as a bowl of slop was pushed into his hands.

Gwen gave him a withering look. "Merlin, if you get any thinner you'll cease to exist. I don't want you to fall off your horse because you're too weak to sit up."

"'M fine," Merlin mumbled.

He poked at the food with his spoon, then, with Gwen watching him like a hawk, scooped some up and put it in his mouth. It tasted like lumpy cabbage water, but he forced himself to swallow it. Gwen gestured to the spot beside her and he cautiously sat.

"I can see you're not well, Merlin. Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Her soft voice simultaneously comforted and saddened him. He was reminded of how much he missed talking with her like they had before she became Queen. Her kind, selfless words had never failed to warm his heart, and sometimes just sitting with her had been enough to make him feel more cheerful. His betrayal of her trust was still a suffocating weight on his conscience, and her guileless smile made him want to cry.

"I haven't been sleeping very well," he hedged, staring down at his bowl. "I don't know what's causing it -" _Lie. "- _but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." _Lie._

"Have you talked to Gaius?" she asked.

He nodded. "None of his remedies helped."

Gwen put her hand gently on the back of his neck. The pads of her fingers were rough as she stroked his hair. Merlin closed his eyes, feeling sick with guilt.

"Perhaps you could speak with Arthur?" she suggested after a few moments.

Merlin almost flinched at the mention of Arthur's name. _Poor, sweet Gwen. How could you have betrayed her like that?_

"He… he wouldn't understand," Merlin stammered.

"He cares about you. I'm sure he'll try," Gwen said softly. There was no mistaking the love for her husband shining in her eyes.

Suddenly getting up and leaving seemed like a very good idea.

He eventually found the king standing with his back to the rest of the knights, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the distance. Somehow Merlin could see the taught lines of his shoulder muscles even under his armour. He longed to soothe the tension away with his fingers, as he had done many times in the past. He could still picture how Arthur's body slowly relaxed under his touch, the wonderful softness and pliancy of his skin…

"We have to get moving."

Merlin jumped. "Sire?"

"We cannot remain in the forest for much longer. Something here feels… evil." The tremor in his voice was barely audible, but Merlin heard it as clearly as the ringing of Camelot's warning bell.

Merlin swallowed. If _Arthur_ was afraid…

Arthur turned to face him. His expression was impassive, his body like a coiled spring. "Did you have something you wanted to say to me?"

For a moment Merlin floundered, then he blurted, "Gwen's serving up the rest of the stew. You should eat something before we start moving again."

The corner of Arthur's mouth curled up like he was going to smirk. "I don't need you to mother me, Merlin," he said softly.

"I'm just trying to look out for you." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He bit down on his bottom lip, hard.

In the dim light, Arthur's blue eyes seemed to glow, which made it even more difficult for Merlin to hold his gaze. The air between them grew tense, but not unpleasantly so. Merlin's stomach twisted and flipped the same way it had in those glorious few moments before Arthur had kissed him for the first time. He half-convinced himself the same thing was going to happen again when Arthur took a step towards him, then another, and another…

All the air suddenly came whooshing out of his lungs when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Come on, you idiot. We have to hurry if we are to reach Mercia by nightfall."

* * *

Tirius sat on the hard, narrow bed in the servant's quarters, playing with fire.

The orange and yellow flames seemed to grow through the skin on the centre of his palm; they licked at his fingers and chased each other across the backs of his hands, making his pale skin flicker with light and shadow. The heat should have been unbearable, and the smell of charred flesh should have been thick in his nose and throat, but there was only a pleasant tingling sensation where the flames caressed his hands and the warmth of his magic humming in his veins.

Tirius had been able to conjure fire from his hands since before he could crawl. The first time, it had happened quite by accident. His poor nurse had almost collapsed when she had come up the stairs to find the cot burning and Tirius sitting on the floor giggling and clapping his pudgy, lethal hands.

Here in Mercia, magic wasn't outlawed as it was in Camelot, but Tirius was yet to find someone else who possessed a similar gift to him in the entire kingdom. As soon as he had arrived with Aliana - both of them filthy, half-starved and claiming to be refugees seeking shelter and paid work – he had reached out with his magic and searched every mind within his range for even the smallest spark of power, but had found nothing. Uther's poison had spread further than he'd anticipated, and that made him all the more determined to find Emrys.

The slam of a door broke Tirius' concentration. The flames vanished in less time than it took for him to blink, and he glanced up to see whose arrival had disturbed him.

He almost didn't recognise Aliana with her silver hair pulled up in a twist and her pale skin free of dirt. Her tattered dress had been replaced by a dull brown smock and an off-white apron. Tirius wore a pair of itchy breeches and a loose-fitting shirt. His hair had been combed and his fingernails trimmed. When he'd looked at his reflection in the tiny mirror ill-designed for its purpose, a pair of blank eyes set in a thin face had stared back, and Tirius had bared his teeth in a satisfied grin. It was the perfect disguise.

"What news?" Tirius demanded, noticing Aliana's flushed cheeks and too-bright eyes. She was breathing heavily; running in this form was a chore for her.

"Master, he's here."

Tirius felt his heartbeat quicken. He almost leaped up off the bed but restrained himself just in time. "Are you sure?"

Aliana nodded. "Lord Bayard has gone to meet Arthur in the courtyard."

"And Emrys is with him?"

"Yes, master."

Tirius drew his lips back over his teeth; half grinning, half snarling. "Then let's go meet him."

* * *

At Mercia's front gates, Arthur and his company were greeted by a great bear of a man with an immaculate, grey-streaked beard and a round belly that was full of too much ale and rich food. Bayard embraced Arthur with all the strength and vigour of a man half his age, and Gwen did her very best not to flinch away from his scratchy whiskers as he kissed her on both cheeks.

"Lady Guinevere," Bayard bellowed in his deep, gruff voice. "You are even more radiant than I remember."

"You are as charming as ever, my lord," Gwen said, smiling demurely.

A small cluster of stable hands led away the horses and Bayard led the way up the flight of steps leading from the courtyard to the front doors, which had been thrown wide in welcome.

"I trust you had a safe journey?" Bayard asked them.

Merlin watched Arthur and Gwen exchange a knowing look. They could communicate with one another through eye contact alone as well as they could with spoken words. Merlin was still having trouble getting Arthur to be honest with him even after almost ten years of being… well, whatever they were.

_All the more reason they belong together_, Merlin told himself firmly, swallowing the jealousy rising like acid in his throat.

Arthur answered Bayard's question: "Quite safe, yes, though I did notice that the forest is rather empty of game within about fifteen miles of here."

Bayard's expression turned grave. "Yes, indeed. I took my men out hunting a couple of weeks ago and it was as if every deer, rabbit, bird and boar had been wiped from existence. Most disturbing."

Gwen spoke up: "Please let us know if there's anything we can do to help."

"Very kind of you, my lady," Bayard said. "But I fear we may be able to do nothing but wait."

A crowd of servants stood ready in the entrance hall. They bowed to Arthur and Gwen, and nodded respectfully to each of the knights. The only ones who paid any attention to Merlin were a young woman and a skinny teenager; the woman offered him a sympathetic smile which Merlin gratefully returned, and the boy simply stared as though expecting him to suddenly burst into flames.

"Show our guests to their rooms and make sure they have everything they require," Bayard instructed them.

He bade Arthur and Gwen goodnight with as much enthusiasm as he had greeted them before leaving them alone with the servants. Merlin followed after Arthur as closely as he dared with so many eyes watching him. The girl who escorted Camelot's royals into the largest of the guest rooms had rosy cheeks and dimples, and Merlin was pleased to see that not all of the servants had the same sinister look as the boy in the entrance hall.

As Arthur and Gwen were settling in, the girl tugged on Merlin's sleeve and led him into the room next door. These guest quarters were far less grand and only about a quarter of the size, but Merlin was overwhelmed with gratitude as he took in the large four poster bed and four downy pillows. As soon as the girl left, Merlin threw the few things he had brought with him into a corner to be dealt with in the morning and slipped out of the door.

The door to Arthur's room opened on the fourth round of knocking, and Arthur's face appeared in the crack.

"What is it, Merlin?"

"I just came to make sure you have everything you need," Merlin said meekly.

"We're fine, Merlin," Arthur said wearily. "Go to bed."

"Right."

When Merlin turned around, he almost jumped out of his skin. Mordred was leaning against the door opposite Arthur and Gwen's; he had changed out of his armour and his curly hair was mussed on one side.

"You scared the life out of me."

Mordred said nothing. His eyes were blank and unreadable; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking with the solid wall around his thoughts still in place.

Too exhausted to try and make amends with the Druid, Merlin turned to go. "Goodnight, Mordred."

With the door safely between them, Merlin pushed a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. So Mordred was still angry with him. Although he shouldn't have cared, the urge to knock on his door and force a civil conversation between them tugged harshly on his gut. He knew he wouldn't be able to fully relax during the festivities anyway, but having one reason to be wary of Mordred was stressful enough.

Outside the window, the sky above the horizon was losing the last of its colour. Merlin's room was high enough for him to see over the citadel wall and out towards the outlying villages. The houses glowed like tiny fireflies in the distance, but the rest of Mercia lay hidden in mysterious darkness. As he leaned his elbows on the sill, Merlin remembered the look Mordred had given him in the corridor: the cold, empty stare that was so different from the blazing fire in Merlin's nightmares. Then, inexplicably, his thoughts strayed to the boy. There was something not quite right about him.

Merlin bit at his thumbnail - a nervous habit he had developed only recently. He wanted to believe that his worn out brain was playing tricks on him, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he was. In the brief instant when Merlin had passed him, he could have sworn the air surrounding the boy's scrawny frame had _crackled_.

He wasn't sure which was more unnerving: seeing exactly what Mordred might be capable of, or the possibility that he wasn't the real threat after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**III.**

Despite the detrimental lack of sleep he had received over the past few days and the aches that had taken up residence in his bones, habit dictated that Merlin was awake before sunrise the next morning. Efforts to tame his hair were quickly abandoned when it became clear that the strands were determined to remain virtually vertical and would not be persuaded otherwise, however his unruly appearance was the least of Merlin's concerns. The welcome feast was to be held that night in Bayard's Great Hall, and until then he had to keep an eye on Arthur and make sure Mordred didn't stray within a hundred yards of him.

Which, Merlin realised, would be easier said than done.

A knock on the door startled him so much that his foot smacked against the bed. Biting back a cry of pain, he hobbled across the room as best he could to open it.

The young woman who had smiled at him the day before was standing in the corridor with a breakfast tray. "Good morning," she said, not looking Merlin in the eye. "I brought your breakfast."

Merlin blinked. "You must have the wrong room. I'm just King Arthur's manservant."

"You are Merlin, aren't you?"

"Yes, but -"

The woman pushed the tray at him. The food smelled heavenly; bacon, eggs, sausages and freshly baked bread all in generous helpings that threatened to tumble off the sides of the tray. Merlin's mouth watered.

He took the tray from the woman's hands and set it on the small table in the centre of the chamber. "Thank you very much. I appreciate it."

The girl wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were examining his boots, her head tilted slightly to the side. "Did you hurt your foot?" she asked softly.

Merlin's mouth twisted ruefully. "I hit it on something. It's nothing to worry about."

"You were limping." As she lifted her gaze to look at him, Merlin was taken aback by the delicate structure of her face and the round, fawn-like eyes that were the same shade as Arthur's when the sunlight reflected off them.

Suddenly his mouth wouldn't work properly. "I... Was I?" he stuttered.

"I can take a look at it if you'd like."

"Erm… okay. Come in."

She made him sit on the edge of the bed without touching him once – she seemed to somehow tell him what she wanted without saying it out loud – and knelt before him on the floor. Merlin was about to offer her a pillow to kneel on but was cut off by a hiss of pain as she eased the boot off his injured foot. His ankle was beginning to swell and was turning an unnerving shade of puce.

_I must have hit it harder than I realised_, Merlin thought. He bit down on his lip to distract him from the pain lower down and focused on the maid. She was rubbing her fingers over the abused flesh, gently probing to find the exact location of the affliction. Only now did Merlin realise that she carried no equipment with her to treat the wound, yet she seemed utterly confident in what she was doing.

As Merlin watched, she carefully placed her hand between the ankle bone and the top of his foot. A rush of electric warmth flooded from her fingers, seeping down through skin and tissue and bone and sucking away all of the pain like a wave washing sand from the shore.

As the last of the golden mist disappeared from her blue irises, the woman glanced up at him. "Is that better?" she asked.

For a moment Merlin was too shocked to speak. He slowly rotated his ankle once, twice, three times, convincing himself it was healed. He placed his foot on the cold stone and tried bearing weight on it, quickly finding he could stand with no difficulty whatsoever. The girl rose with him. Merlin stared at her with disbelieving eyes.

"You know magic?" he croaked.

The girl looked at her feet. "I just know how to heal," she said.

Merlin shook his head. "I felt your power. You can do far more than just heal." He tried to put a hand on her arm but she flinched away, afraid.

"Where did you learn to do it?" Merlin asked in the same hushed voice. Arthur and Gwen were still next door and, although this wasn't Arthur's kingdom and he had no power over the laws of the land, Merlin couldn't help but feel it was best if he didn't find out Bayard's servant was a sorcerer.

"I didn't learn," was all she said in reply. She lifted her wide, frightened eyes and looked straight into Merlin's face. "Are you going to tell Arthur?"

"Arthur has no say in what happens here. You're perfectly safe."

The girl nodded and glanced at the door. "I must get on. My master will be wondering where I am."

Unable to stop himself, Merlin grabbed her wrist. "Wait. You took care of me. At least tell me your name."

A muscle in the girl's jaw tightened. Merlin hurriedly retracted his hand with a mumbled apology. _  
_

The girl was silent for so long that Merlin started to wonder if she intended to answer him. Then, in a barely audible voice, she said, "My name is Aliana." And then she was gone.

* * *

The events of the morning played themselves over in Merlin's head on a continuous loop for the rest of the day. He had gone to Arthur's room after finishing his breakfast only to be informed that Bayard had instructed his servants to tend to his and Guinevere's every need, effectively rendering Merlin useless. The novel excitement at finally having a day to himself quickly evaporated when Merlin realised that he had absolutely nothing to occupy himself with until the feast. He spent the day wandering listlessly around the castle until the bell summoned everyone to the Great Hall and the celebrations officially began.

By the time Merlin arrived, the Hall was full to the brim with people. There were so many that Merlin wondered how they all fit between the long tables laden so heavily with food that they were beginning to sag. The orchestra had set up on a stage at the front of the hall and their music floated through the open windows all the way to the outskirts of the citadel. Couples twirled in colourful circles whilst those without partners stood against the walls and clapped along with the merry tune.

Feeling out of place in his plain blue shirt and weather-beaten coat, Merlin located an unoccupied corner and looked around for Arthur. The King of Camelot was currently talking with some of Bayard's other guests, holding a goblet of wine in his right hand and gesturing enthusiastically with his left. Gwen loitered at his side with a plainly false smile on her face, pretending to be the slightest bit interested in what was being said. Merlin barely had time to decide whether to feel smugness or pity before she spotted him, excused herself and threaded her way through the crowd.

"Hello Merlin," she said in greeting. She looked so stunning in a cream and lavender gown that Merlin wanted to turn around and slink away. "You're looking a little better today. Did you sleep well last night?"

"Yes, thank you," Merlin said. "Did you and Arthur have a good day with Lord Bayard?"

Gwen smiled. "He hasn't changed," she said. "He knows how to throw a party doesn't he?"

Merlin nodded. He was unsure of what else to say, especially with Gwen looking so radiant and willing to provide the first human contact Merlin had received all day since the encounter with Aliana in his chambers. Things had never been awkward between the two of them, not even when they had first met. But his selfishness and disloyalty had changed all that. Now she was little more than a stranger to him.

Gwen's smile faltered. Merlin wondered if she was regretting breaking away from her husband to come and talk to him – he certainly would be. "Why don't you ask one of the maids for a dance?" she suggested.

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "You can't be serious," he deadpanned.

His disbelieving expression was enough to cause a wide grin to spread across Gwen's face. "I'm completely serious. You spend too much time running around after Arthur. You're becoming a recluse."

Despite the awkwardness he was feeling, Merlin couldn't help but mirror her smile. "You know I don't dance, Gwen. Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to just walk up to one of these girls and ask them."

Gwen patted his arm in mock sympathy. "You're lucky I'm here. Who would you like to dance with?"

Without thinking, Merlin's eyes scanned the room until they located Arthur. The thought that someone else had been responsible for making him look so magnificent in Camelot's colours made his heart hurt. What if Arthur decided he didn't need him anymore? Merlin wouldn't have any reason to see him again. He would be pushed as far away from him as it was possible to be. The thought of that possibility alone was enough to choke him.

"Merlin," Gwen said, rousing him from his dark hole of self-pity, "I don't mean to seem untoward, but I couldn't help but notice that Mordred keeps looking at you."

Shaking his head, Merlin redirected his gaze from Arthur to the space across the room that Mordred was currently filling. If Gwen hadn't drawn attention to him, Merlin wouldn't have noticed he was there. Although he was wearing in the same shade of brilliant red as Arthur and the knights, Mordred seemed to blend right into the dark panel of wood behind him. Even his white skin seemed less stark against his dark hair.

Mordred seemed to feel Merlin's eyes on him. He lifted his chin a fraction, and suddenly every detail of his form was perfectly clear. Even with the vast distance between them, his eyes caught Merlin's and held them like a physical grip. He couldn't look away, though the gods knew he wanted to.

"Merlin?" Gwen's voice reached him as though it was coming from underwater. "Is everything all right?"

With a conscious effort, Merlin tore his gaze from Mordred's. "Fine. Everything's fine."

"I'm glad." Merlin could tell she didn't believe him. He could almost see her thought processes as she conspicuously turned her head to look from him to Mordred and back again. She said nothing more, but the slight crease between her eyebrows still lingered.

When Merlin summoned the courage to look back across the room, Mordred had vanished.

"Excuse me," Gwen murmured next to his ear, "I must return to Arthur. I fear he is reaching the end of his capacity to talk sense."

"Already?" Merlin asked, though he really shouldn't have been surprised. One look at Arthur's flushed cheeks and lopsided smile confirmed that he had long since drifted from the safe harbour of sobriety and was in danger of making a fool of himself. If someone wasn't there to look after him, the peace between Mercia and Camelot wouldn't last for much longer.

Gwen rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "I'll see you later, Merlin. Don't forget to have fun!"

"Yeah," Merlin muttered under his breath. "Right."

As Gwen moved away, Merlin caught sight of a familiar face. Her chin was tilted down towards the floor, but there was no mistaking the sculpted cheekbones or the unusual colour of her hair.

Before his brain could catch up to what his feet were doing, Merlin had made his way over and was standing in front of her.

"Hi."

Aliana looked up, her blue eyes wide and startled. Merlin held up his hand, showing her that he intended to keep his distance.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

The girl's shoulders dropped a little, but the muscle in her jaw remained taught as though she was steeling herself for an attack. "Oh, it's you."

Merlin's hand automatically reached for the back of his neck. He forced it back down. "Er, I realised I never properly thanked you for… for what you did earlier. It was very kind. So... thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Aliana said, not sounding like she meant it.

"And just so you know, I stand by what I said. I won't tell anyone about… well, you know." _Stop talking, you idiot, someone might overhear._

"I appreciate it."

Merlin let out a breath. "Okay, well, enjoy the party."

"You too."

Feeling like an idiot, Merlin retreated back to his spot by the wall. Maybe Gwen was right: the amount of time he spent with Arthur was having a greater impact on his social skills than he'd realised. But why should he even care? His affections were unconditionally reserved for Arthur. Besides, given his apparent lack of social aptitude he couldn't change that even if he'd wanted to.

An unexpected impact on his shoulder almost made him topple over.

"Merlin!" exclaimed Gwaine. A wash of alcohol-scented breath across his face churned Merlin's stomach. With his hand on his shoulder, Merlin could feel how the knight's body swayed unsteadily back and forth.

"Hello Gwaine," Merlin said. He gingerly lifted the gloved hand from his shoulder, ready to catch it again if Gwaine leaned too far in one direction. "Enjoying yourself, I see."

"Who was that girl you were talking to?" he slurred.

Merlin looked uneasily at his friend. "Her name's Aliana. She's one of Bayard's maids."

"She's very pretty," observed the knight. Merlin wasn't sure he liked the look that had come into his dark eyes, but a drunken Gwaine was extremely difficult to reason with.

"Yes," Merlin agreed. "But you may have difficulty talking to her. She seems very… reserved."

Gwaine wagged his eyebrows. "I'd like to see her try to resist me."

"I'm sure she won't have much difficulty," Merlin remarked drily, fully aware that Gwaine had stopped listening. He had already begun to make his unsteady way towards Aliana, putting his footwork practise to good use as he tried to walk in a straight line.

"Oh wait, before I forget," Gwaine said over his shoulder. "Bayard's holding a friendly tournament for us and his knights tomorrow, so could you help me with my armour in the morning?"

Merlin's mouth curled into a smile. "Of course."

As he watched Gwaine saunter away, Merlin felt a small portion of grief lift off his chest. With Arthur safely in Gwen's care and Mordred nowhere to be seen, he deemed it safe for him to return to the wonderfully soft bed that awaited him in his chambers, blissfully unaware of the eyes that followed him as he went.


	5. Chapter 5

**IV.**

It seemed as though he'd been running for years.

_Hurry Emrys_, whispered a voice, _Hurry. He's dying._

_Go away!_ he wanted to scream, but there was no air left in his lungs. Thorns as long as talons tore at his clothes and skin. Every muscle in his body burned. The trees pressed close, blotting out sun and sky, if such things existed in this realm of terror and endless darkness.

_Run, Emrys._ The voice, low and mocking, was smooth as silk and horribly, horribly familiar. _It's almost too late_.

A root lashed across his ankle like a snake. He dropped like a stone, having no energy to raise his arms and slow his fall. The impact was stunning. He lay face down on the hard soil for what felt like an eternity. His heart beat furiously like the wings of a tiny bird trapped in an impenetrable prison. It wanted to go to him, to save him before it was too late, but his body had no strength to get up.

Footsteps as loud as thunderclaps approached him from the shadows. The owner of the footsteps moved slowly and triumphantly, basking in the afterglow of an inevitable victory. They stopped just outside of his line of sight, and for a moment there was nothing but the rasp of Merlin's breath as he fought to drag air into his lungs.

When the voice spoke again, it was laced with such contempt that the words were like knife wounds in his skull: _You're pathetic, Emrys. All you ever did was get in the way. How could you be stupid enough to think that Arthur ever needed you? That he ever _loved_ you? _

_That doesn't matter._ He was shocked to hear his own voice. His chest heaved as though he were drowning and his mouth was full of dirt and bile, yet the words came with almost no effort, like the person he was speaking to was right inside his head. _I don't care what he feels for me. I'll never let him die. Never._

Cruel laughter sent chills deep into his bones. _Your devotion is admirable, but I'm afraid it is in vain. You see, I've already won._

Something warm splashed onto his cheek. It slithered over his skin like oil, and suddenly he tasted metal in his mouth. Dread turned his insides to water.

He spat out the blood like it was poison, ignoring the pain in his chest as he twisted his body to look up at the owner of the voice. What he saw caused his throat to tighten in panic; alabaster skin smeared with red, dark curls wild and matted, insane blue eyes like shards of ice glinting in the darkness.

_What have you done?_

Mordred held up his prize: a sword once forged in a dragon's breath, now bloodstained and broken like its master. He bared his teeth in a demonic grin.

_The king is dead. Long live the king._

* * *

Merlin watched the knights of Camelot and Mercia file into the ring with a detached sort of interest. Despite the fact that this tournament was merely an activity to fill the hours before it was acceptable for swords to be exchanged for goblets, Bayard was insisting on going through the formal procedures of an official competition. The king was currently seated in the royal box, addressing the men arranged in neat rows of blue and red in his thunderously animated voice. Arthur sat beside him looking antsy and impatient, like he wanted nothing more than to be beside his men. Merlin could hear every word Bayard said loud and clear but the pounding in his head meant it was painful for him to focus on them.

He had started awake before dawn, shivering in sweat-soaked sheets. He laid still and supine for several hours, struggling to get his breathing under control after his nightmare until it was time to rise and help Gwaine dress as he had promised. His friend was surprisingly cheerful considering the amount of alcohol that had passed his lips the night before, but Merlin thought nothing of it as he methodically set out the components of Gwaine's armour on the bed ready for him to put on. Gwaine chattered absently as he worked, but a delicate knock on the door caused him to abruptly fall silent.

Merlin looked at him curiously. "Are you going to answer that?"

Gwaine smiled lopsidedly at him, almost convincing Merlin that he had imagined the streak of panic in his dark eyes. He called "Enter!" and the door was cautiously opened by a familiar girl with silver hair pulled up in a messy knot at the back of her head.

"Morning, m'lord," she mumbled with a curtsey. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Merlin, who greeted her with the widest smile he could manage.

"Hello again," he said.

"Hello," she replied uncertainly.

Merlin stepped away from the bed and put a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. The muscles under his palm were as rigid as stone. "What can we do for you on this fine day?" he asked.

Aliana blinked at him like she had already forgotten he was there. She quickly set the tray on a nearby table and began to back out of the room. Gwaine watched her like a snake watches a rabbit, completely unmoving.

"I just came to bring Sir Gwaine his breakfast," Aliana said quickly. "By your leave, m'lord," she addressed Gwaine with a polite incline of her head.

Gwaine started like someone had tipped a bucket of icy water over his head. "Of course. Thank you."

As soon as the latch clicked, Merlin turned to face Gwaine. "What was all that about?"

"All what, Merlin?" Gwaine asked. To his credit, he sounded genuinely confused.

"I've never seen you behave like that around anyone." Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please!" Merlin exclaimed. "Come on Gwaine, you can tell me. What happened after I left you and Aliana alone last night?"

"I'm fairly certain it's none of your business," Gwaine said shortly. Merlin flinched at the stiffness in his tone. Gwaine _never_ passed up the opportunity to share gossip unless formally sworn to secrecy. "Now if you don't mind I'd appreciate if you would get on with your job instead of standing around chatting."

Merlin lowered his head, feeling like a scolded puppy. "Yes, m'lord," he mumbled.

When he had finished, Gwaine thanked him with a curt nod, took his helmet from Merlin's hands and swept from the room without a backward glance. Merlin was left wounded and confused, replaying the entire discourse over and over in his head and trying to figure out what on earth had just happened.

That had been almost two hours ago, and Merlin was no closer to an explanation. One thing was certain: Gwaine wasn't acting like himself at all, and the change had come over him in less time than it took to blink.

Merlin raised his hands to massage his temples. It felt like a giant was crushing his head between its massive hands and trying to mould it like a piece of clay. He wanted nothing more than to find a dark corner to lie down in but he wouldn't hear the end of it from Arthur if he thought he was being lazy.

"Merlin?"

Every muscle in Merlin's body seized up. He turned slowly, moving like an old man with arthritic joints, to face the man who, just a few hours ago, had murdered his best friend in cold blood.

"Might I have a word?" Mordred asked in a low voice.

The knights had left the ring and were now milling around its edges, talking in small groups and paying close attention to the two men circling each other across the sand. Merlin recognised Percival instantly; he looked like a mountain compared to his opponent, a skinny boy of barely eighteen. It wasn't a fair fight, but perhaps that was the intention. Mordred was the only one not watching; his eyes brimmed over with an intense urgency that seemed to reach inside Merlin with cold foreboding fingers.

"What is it, Mordred?" Merlin said, trying his best to keep the frostiness out of his voice. It wasn't easy considering that Mordred was the last person he wanted to see and the excess tension left over from their last confrontation still hung over them like a storm cloud.

"It's about Arthur."

"What about him?" Merlin was pleased with the level of nonchalance in the words. Meanwhile his brain was accelerating into overdrive, helpfully presenting him with every possible scenario that could put Arthur in any kind of danger in glorious detail.

Mordred moved closer, filling Merlin's nose with the smell of metal and an underlying hint of masculinity that Merlin would never have expected to come from Mordred's delicate, boyish skin. He was hit with simultaneous urges to step back and breathe in the scent. The latter alarmed him considerably; he tightened his jaw and breathed through his mouth.

"I think there may be people in King Bayard's household that wish to harm him," Mordred said carefully. "The thought has bothered me since we arrived here."

Merlin frowned. "What exactly are you asking, Mordred?"

"I was wondering if you felt something similar, that's all," he said. His eyes were guarded, and Merlin wondered if he would find the wall still in place if he tried to see inside his mind. "I wanted to get some peace of mind, to make sure I'm not just being paranoid."

"Why do you suddenly care so much?" Merlin demanded.

Mordred sighed wearily. "How many times must we go over this? You're not the only one who cares for the king's safety, Merlin. The responsibility of protecting him doesn't fall on your shoulders alone. It's time you accepted that."

"Right. Just tell me what you wanted to say."

Mordred's eyes travelled over Merlin's face. At this angle the sunlight made them translucent; Merlin didn't realise he was staring until Mordred smiled one of his fleeting smiles. Merlin set his jaw and studiously ignored the warm flush he could feel in his cheeks.

"I suspect that one of Bayard's servants may have magic."

His stomach did a panicked somersault. _How could he know that? I promised Aliana I wouldn't let anyone find out._ "Oh?"

Mordred nodded. "I felt it. It was only brief, but whoever it was possesses great power. And… it felt _evil_. When I sensed it, I felt the same way I felt in the forest – like something dark was creeping into my heart."

"That's… interesting," Merlin said. He was aware of how unconvincing he sounded, and Mordred's frown was definitely suspicious. "Are you sure you weren't mistaken?"

A muscle in Mordred's jaw twitched. "Perfectly sure. I'd be prepared to swear it on the king's life."

Merlin shuddered. "Don't say things like that," he said, realising a second later that it had been Mordred's intention to elicit that reaction from him.

The Druid peered at him from under his eyelashes. They were very long, like a girl's, and so black that they made his eyes seem even brighter. "Are you not worried?"

"I don't see what this has to do with Arthur's safety."

As soon as the last word left his mouth, the air between their bodies began to tingle. Merlin steeled himself for an explosion, as was habit, but none came. Mordred's expression became as impassive and emotionless as a stone wall.

"Well then, if you don't believe he is in any danger, it must be so. Sorry to have troubled you."

As he turned to walk away, a small figure emerged from the shadows. It was the boy from the entrance hall, dressed smartly in a blue tunic with a silver crest in the shape of Bayard's boar. Up close, the eyes that had drilled straight through Merlin's flesh were even more disturbing. Merlin felt Mordred stiffen.

"Sir Mordred?" the boy drawled. At Mordred's nod, he gestured towards the now empty ring. As expected, Percival was the victor of the last match, but sported several cuts and bruises. His opponent was apparently more skilled than he looked. "You will be fighting Sir Rodrik in the next match. If you would like to prepare yourself, my king will begin the fight when you are ready."

The politeness was obviously forced and the boy looked less interested in Mordred than if he were a clump of dirt on the underside of his shoe. Mordred was staring at him as though he'd suddenly grown fangs, but quickly regained his composure and left without another word to either of them.

A short distance from the ring, Aliana was helping Sir Rodrik with his gauntlets. She seemed to be speaking quietly to him but her lips moved too quickly for Merlin to guess what she was saying. Sir Rodrik was nowhere near as large as Percival, yet beside him Aliana looked as frail as a child. She fastened the last buckle with practised movements, standing on tiptoe to whisper something in Sir Rodrik's ear. The knight nodded like he understood, though his expression was utterly blank. Aliana gave his elbow a final pat and Sir Rodrik squared his shoulders, following Mordred into the ring.

Merlin watched Mordred take up his stance with a strange tightening in his abdomen. The other knights stood against the barrier and whooped encouragement as the two began to circle. Merlin couldn't help but be impressed by Mordred's ability to mirror Sir Rodrik's every movement, and at the same time he seemed to be manoeuvring the larger man into a position where it would be easy for Mordred to make the first move. Gradually silence fell, and then Mordred struck.

Metal rang high and piercing as Rodrik lifted a beefy arm to block the first blow. As though he had been anticipating it, Mordred ducked under Rodrik's blade and pressed the attack, causing Rodrik to stumble backwards in surprise at how quickly he had recovered. Mordred was relentless as he pushed Rodrik back towards the edge of the ring, and the other knight could do nothing but clumsily defend himself to avoid being pounded by the blunted edge of Mordred's sword.

"He has more skill than Rodrik anticipated, I fear," said the boy. Merlin had completely forgotten he was there.

"Yes," he agreed, hearing the awe in his own voice. "It would seem so."

Rodrik was attempting to reverse the positions by meeting Mordred's blows with as much force as he could muster, but what Mordred lacked in strength he made up for in agility. He dodged Rodrik's swings so that they glanced uselessly off his blade and armour. When Rodrik raised his sword, Mordred dropped underneath it and delivered a hefty blow to the back of his calf that made him stumble and howl.

A cheer went up from the gathering of red cloaks on the ringside and Merlin found himself joining in. Mordred sidestepped another of Rodrik's attacks and blocked it almost lazily, causing the bigger man to let out a roar of frustration. Mordred stepped back to allow him some room, and Sir Rodrik leapt at him like a bear. Caught off guard, Mordred lifted his blade too late and the flat of the other man's sword thumped into his shoulder.

There was a collective wince from the crowd as Mordred lifted a gloved hand to inspect the damage. He didn't seem too hurt, and Rodrik didn't give him much chance to recover his wits before charging at him with a series of downcuts that Mordred barely managed to avoid. He lost his footing and staggered. Seizing his chance, Rodrik swung his sword at Mordred's torso. It crunched against his armour with enough force to cut a man in half and was followed swiftly by Rodrik's mailed forearm slamming into his chest. For a moment it looked like Mordred would stay upright, then his knees buckled and he collapsed.

It took too long for Merlin's brain to catch up to what his eyes were seeing. By the time he recovered, Camelot's knights had swarmed into the ring and were gathered around Mordred's prone form. When Merlin joined them, the extent of his injuries became clear. Blood seeped through the chainmail on Mordred's left side, soaking his glove where it covered the wound. His eyes were half closed, his breaths coming shallow and fast.

"How can blunt swords do this much damage?" Merlin asked no one in particular, staring at the pool of blood forming on the sand.

Leon's strong hand found his shoulder. "They can't," he said gravely. "Sir Rodrik's blade must have been sharp as a razor."

Arthur suddenly appeared at Merlin's other shoulder. "Get him to a physician," he commanded. Then, "Where is Sir Rodrik?"

No one knew. He had slipped away in the commotion and was nowhere to be found. No one seemed to know who he was or where he'd come from; he had simply appeared dressed in Mercian armour and no one had thought anything of it.

"Whoever he was," Arthur said to his knights as they stood around Mordred's bedside, "he was no friend of Camelot. Tell the others to be on their guard in case this wasn't an isolated attack."

"Why would Rodrik choose to attack Mordred?" asked Percival.

_He knows something_, Merlin thought. He gazed down at Mordred, lying still and cold as the grave. His face was as pale as the pillow under his head and the white linen sheets concealed the heavy gauze bandages wrapped tightly around his waist. _He tried to warn me and I didn't listen._

"Will he live?" he asked in a small voice.

Arthur turned to him. "He has the strength to recover," he said softly. The uncertainty in his eyes made Merlin feel sick. "But only time will tell."

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf began to howl.


	6. Chapter 6

**V.**

Aliana knew she was in trouble. Tirius had left a note on her pillow - written on the king's best gilded stationery - asking her to meet him in the forest when her duties were done. She knew it wasn't an invitation, and the same instinct told her that she and her master wouldn't be having a friendly conversation under the stars whilst the rest of the castle slept. But whatever the consequence, Aliana would rather find herself on the receiving end of Tirius' wrath than the other, far worse alternative.

Getting out into the open was easy, and soon she found herself facing the huge iron gate that separated the citadel from the rest of Mercia. She had barely seen anything of the kingdom since they had arrived. She longed to explore the endless hills and valleys that lay hidden in the darkness, but Tirius never had any time for sightseeing. He was not weighted by the same burden she was. He didn't feel the maddening itch in his skin or the horrid discomfort in his joints that served to remind him that the face he wore was not his own. She needed to run, and there was nowhere better than here, where miles and miles of open country would serve to conceal her as well as free her.

The change came easily, like shrugging out of a winter cloak to feel the warm caress of spring. She stretched and blinked, waiting for her brain to adjust to seeing the world through new eyes. The colour palette was less diverse – mainly blacks, greys and browns – but impaired sight was no hindrance when her ears and nose were all she needed to make sense of her surroundings. She lifted her nose and inhaled the scents of beef and lamb that had been that night's feast for Bayard's guests, as well as the sharp tang of alcohol and the overwhelming stench of too many human bodies.

The harsh smells bombarded her sensitive nostrils; she shook her head and sneezed before turning and loping along the shadow of the citadel wall, looking for the gap in the stonework that was just wide enough for her lithe body to squeeze through.

The eerie silence of the darkened woods was alien to her. Her ears could pick up the sound of a deer chewing foliage from a hundred feet away, but now she heard nothing but the sound of her heart pumping blood through the network of vessels that spread from her muzzle to the ends of her toes. She could no more ignore the silence than she could ignore the shady, sinister presence of her master.

She found him on the shore of the lake, their usual meeting spot. The lake was several miles from the citadel and the long run made her muscles burn, but the pain made her feel alive, like jolting awake after a long sleep. She lingered in the shadows for a moment, basking in the effects of the near-narcotic adrenaline shooting through her veins, before reluctantly wriggling out of her wolf coat and back into her human skin.

Tirius appeared deep in thought, his thin face drawn into a deep frown that made him look twice as old as he was. Aliana approached silently lest she interrupt and make him angry, but he turned to face her before she reached his side.

"Does the Druid boy live?" he asked by way of greeting.

Aliana stood facing the lake, watching her master out of the corner of her eye. "His heart still beats, though he has yet to open his eyes. Did he tell anyone what he suspects?"

"No one other than Emrys, and he doesn't believe it. Still, we cannot be sure he won't tell Arthur when, _if_, he wakes up."

"Arthur has no power here," Aliana said, remembering the words Emrys himself had said to her. His eyes were the kindest she had ever seen; every time he looked at her she forgot her purpose. Her master ceased to exist, and the only thing that mattered was the warlock's warm smile.

If Tirius ever discovered the thoughts she harboured in the most private corner her mind, she would be dead in less than a second.

A soft growl escaped from between Tirius' lips. "Bayard trusts Arthur with his life. Anything he says Bayard will believe." He turned abruptly to face her. "What of your puppet? What use has he been to you?"

She made a face. "He is arrogant and crude. Half of the things he says sound like complete nonsense." The corner of her mouth curled up slyly. "But he did tell me something of interest the morning after the tournament."

"Yes?" snapped Tirius impatiently.

Aliana folded her arms across her chest. "It would seem Emrys has become something of a mother duck. He hasn't left the Druid's side since he entered the physician's care."

Her master quirked an eyebrow as a familiar cunning light began to form behind his dark eyes. "Interesting. I was sure I felt something between the two of them, a spark, if you will, that was nothing to do with either of their powers." A simple band of copper circled the third finger of his left hand. He began to play with it absently, as he often did when his mind was occupied. "Perhaps there's no need to kill the boy just yet."

Aliana frowned. "But if he could sense your power then surely -"

"Hush." His eyes glinted savagely in the light of the moon; they were now fixed unblinkingly on her face. He let out a throaty chuckle, sensing the fear rising within her. "I trust you already know the real reason I summoned you here tonight."

She swallowed and said nothing. He took a step towards her, slow and deliberate. Beating back the urge to retreat, she forced her shoulders back and lifted her chin, knowing that any sign of weakness would make whatever was coming so much worse. He raised a hand as if to strike her. She stood still, unflinching, as the backs of his knuckles lightly skimmed her cheek.

"I warned you of Emrys' power," he said in a low voice. Aliana hated the fact that he was several inches taller than her. It made it that much easier for him to overpower her. She felt his cheek brush hers as he murmured in her ear: "He lures his victims in without them realising, persuading them to do his will whilst feigning total innocence." He leaned back away from her, his eyes hard as steel. "He is more dangerous than any other. You would do well to remember that."

"It wasn't like that!" she protested, clenching her fists. "He was hurt and I helped him, nothing more."

"What did I just say?" His hand was suddenly around her throat, squeezing, crushing the air from her windpipe. He was far stronger than his physical form let on. "He tricked you into using magic in front of him so he could run and tell Arthur. You're lucky he didn't see you do anything but heal him."

"He hasn't – he didn't tell -" was all she managed to say before his grip momentarily tightened, cutting off the rest of her words. He let go as her lungs began to scream, turning his back on her as she gasped and coughed. There would be no mark to show his abuse – his magic would make sure of that.

Sometimes she completely, utterly despised him.

He sighed softly, as though sensing her thoughts. He spun slowly to face her, his expression more sad than angry. "I'm only trying to protect you, sweet one." He opened his arms. "I don't want to have to face this alone."

Aliana shook her head. How many times had she forgiven the rough treatment for the sake of a few tender words and a mournful stare?

"Neither of us has anyone else," he reminded her gently. Affection was a rare trait in her master and despite herself Aliana soaked up every note of kindness he offered like parched soil soaks up rain. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

The second part was a lie, but the first was enough to propel her across the short distance and into his arms. His old woollen cloak was surprisingly soft against her cheek, though he was far too skinny for the embrace to be comfortable. She felt his nose rest against her hair, breathing in the smell of expensive oils and the musky hint of wolf.

Whether Aliana liked it or not, she had given her life to him. They were bound throughout this life and possibly the next, and whatever Tirius wanted, Aliana was obliged to help him get it, even if it involved fraternising with the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth.

It was Tirius who drew away first. He dropped his arms from her back and stepped away, suddenly cold and distant again. Aliana found herself shivering at the loss of his body heat, but his magic was never far away.

"What do we do now, master?" she asked, retreating behind a wall of formality before he could see the vulnerability – the weakness – in her face.

"We return to Mercia," he murmured, speaking more to the lake than to her. "I've already checked the cave – everything is just as we left it." His mouth twisted into a smirk. "I do hope Emrys appreciates all the trouble we've gone to when the time comes."

Aliana lowered her head, a habit she had developed for hiding her true feelings; no matter what lies she forced from her mouth, her eyes would always betray her. "I'm sure he will, master," she said softly.

"As for the Druid boy," Tirius continued as though she hadn't spoken, "Leave him be for now, but keep an eye on how he behaves around Emrys. He may yet be of use to us."

"Yes, master."

When he turned to face her this time, his dark eyes simmered with untamed malice, and she trembled under his gaze. "I'm going to destroy him, Aliana." His lips were drawn back over his teeth; he looked and sounded more like a beast than a boy. "Then the world will kneel before _me_, the greatest sorcerer who has ever lived."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Just a quick warning: this chapter doesn't contain much in the way of plot, but there's quite a bit of overdue Merdred fluff (I wouldn't actually call it fluff but you can call it what you like) and a rather large dose of Arthur being a prat to make up for it. At least I hope that makes up for it.

Also I apologise for my apparent inability to write a chapter of this story that doesn't contain any angst. But hey, it's kind of a package deal with this pairing. Enjoy!

* * *

**VI.**

It was painless at first, as it always was. Merlin stood on an outcrop overlooking the sea, watching the murky water roll and churn against the rocks far below. The wind that bit Merlin's cheeks smelled like rain, and the birds wheeling high above his head screamed as though the world was ending.

Merlin didn't know what made him turn around. He never knew, though he'd had this dream a hundred times before. What he saw turned his gut to ice, though by now he supposed he should have expected it. A great plain spread out before his eyes, stretching for miles in every direction. It was all hard, grey stone, not a single blade of grass in sight. Splashes of colour moved around frantically, and the song of swords caught on the wind was enough to start him running.

Unlike dreams where every move is a slow and torturous battle, this one allowed Merlin to cross the plain in the blink of an eye. It only took him a moment to realise his mistake: he stood at the heart of what had to be the bloodiest battle in all of history, surrounded by bodies that dream-instinct told him belonged to people who had once been his friends.

It was always at this point that the dream took a final turn for the worse. An invisible force drew him west, towards the cave entrance. Each step sent a fresh wave of dread through his being until he felt he could barely stand, but somehow he kept walking until two figures locked in combat came into sight. He recognised one of them instantly, but the other wore a hood drawn up over his face. Some part of Merlin knew the identity of the second figure, but that part of him was locked away whilst the dream took hold.

The smaller of the two figures, the one with dark hair and eyes like cold fire, raised his sword to slash at the other's throat with what should have been a fatal blow, but the blade whistled harmlessly through the air instead of biting into flesh. The hooded figure moved with a grace and speed that no human being should possess, and the weapon that came hurtling out of nowhere to pierce through armour was no sword, either. Merlin's blood ran cold as Mordred crumpled to the ground, filthy, bloody and defeated, and the figure stepped forward to place a blood-soaked boot on his battered chest plate.

"You have lost, Mordred," an all too familiar voice declared. The wind caught the edges of the man's red robe, tugging and tugging until the hood tore free, and Mordred looked up into the wrinkled face of his killer. "After all this time, after everything we've been through together, did you really think you could win?"

The man laughed then, high and cruel, and Merlin began to tremble, for the face so twisted with anger and hatred was none other than his own, and it was _his_ staff - _his_ magic - that had opened a hole for Mordred's life to drain out onto the grey stone.

"Emrys," Mordred gasped, his voice thick with fear and hopelessly weak, "Emrys, _please_."

It took Merlin a second too long to realise that Mordred was speaking to _him_, and that the old wizard in the red robe had completely vanished. He dropped to his knees beside the young knight and hauled his shuddering body against his chest, paying no heed to the blood and mud that streaked his clothes.

This wasn't how the dream ended. It was supposed to be Arthur he guided through his last breaths, not his killer. There was no rage this time, no hatred so deep it threatened to drown him. There was only grief, and overwhelming guilt, because this was _Merlin's_ doing, the wizard in the red robe was _him_, and yet Mordred still looked upon him with complete and utter faith, which might even be worse than watching the light leave the eyes of his king.

"Emrys." Mordred's voice was almost inaudible. "Emrys, stay with me."

"I'm here," Merlin promised, half choking on the lump in his throat. "I won't leave you."

Mordred smiled at that - a rare, genuine smile - and Merlin tried not to notice the blood that spilled from the corner of his mouth and onto his sleeve. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that."

Something fierce and nameless burned in Merlin's chest. He bent his head to press his nose against Mordred's cheek, glad for the small comfort of his still-warm body. There was nothing else to say.

Even after Mordred's chest finally grew still, Merlin stayed exactly where he was, crying silently, until he felt a hand in his hair gently pull his head up. A pair of kind blue eyes gazed at him from a face that was very much alive, and Merlin didn't think it was possible for a dream to hurt this much as he gently lowered Mordred's body to the ground and allowed Arthur to draw him to his feet and into his arms.

* * *

_Emrys._

Merlin woke shivering, his body covered in a half-dried layer of cold sweat, with the sound of Mordred's voice whispering his name still echoing in his mind. The sheets were soaked and clung uncomfortably to his skin, but he didn't trust his limbs enough to get up and change them yet. He felt weak all over, as though the nightmare had sucked away every last ounce of his strength. The weight in his chest threatened to crush the air from his lungs. His throat burned as though he had cried out, and he prayed that no one had heard.

Time seemed meaningless as he lay in the dark and tried to shove the lingering memories of the nightmare out of his mind. There was no way he could forget the look of pure adoration in Mordred's eyes during his final moments – the image would be burned into the insides of his eyelids for a lifetime. He tried to pinpoint when exactly the dream had stopped being familiar, but that brought back images of his own liver-spotted face thrown back in triumph as Mordred's blood soaked into his boots.

_Emrys? Are you there?_

Merlin bolted upright. He was sure the voice had been part of his dream. _Mordred?_

_Thank the gods. _The relief in Mordred's voice was so obvious that Merlin felt icy fingers clutch at his heart. _Where am I? It's so dark._

Merlin was already out of bed, still wrapped in damp sheets. _Stay there. I'll come to you._

_Thank you_. Merlin felt the gratitude almost as if it were his own before he finally kicked himself free of the bedcovers and stumbled towards the door.

It didn't take long for him to find the right room. He could feel Mordred's presence grow stronger as the distance between them grew smaller. Merlin would have to walk for at least a few days before he lost track of Mordred's mind altogether, but their mental connection was definitely stronger when they were close. The fact that he could feel Mordred at all was a small miracle, and he hoped the peace would last for longer than a few days this time.

Mindful of waking the physician, Merlin used magic to silence the hinges as he eased the door open. It also served as a means of letting Mordred know to be quiet, and that verbal communication was out of the question. The room was pitch black; the torchlight from the corridor cast a small semicircle of light on the floor, but it only extended a few feet before Merlin had to rely on his instincts and vague memory of the room to keep from bumping into things.

He located the end of the tiny bed with his shinbone and felt along the mattress with his fingertips. They bumped against Mordred's warm hand and were immediately clutched in a near death grip.

_It's alright. I'm here._

Mordred didn't reply but tugged lightly on his arm, gesturing for him to sit. He did so carefully, staying as close to the edge as possible without falling off so to avoid accidentally brushing Mordred's injury and causing him pain.

_How long have you been awake?_

He felt Mordred shrug. _Less than an hour, I would guess. Sorry for waking you._

_You didn't_, Merlin assured him. He felt his pulse leap like a charging horse as Mordred's terrified face flashed before his eyes, effectively ruining his attempts at nonchalance.

_There's something you're not telling me, isn't there Emrys?_

_I don't want to talk about it_, Merlin insisted. _It's j__ust… it's not important._

He sensed Mordred's doubt, but the Druid didn't press the issue further. He was still weak, Merlin realised, and though the mental link was stable, he didn't think Mordred could keep it up for more than a few hours at a time in his current state. Without thinking, Merlin squeezed the hand that still clutched his like a child seeking refuge after a nightmare. He felt Mordred hesitate before reciprocating, but his mind soon filled with unspoken gratitude.

_Tell me what happened_, Mordred said after a while.

_You don't remember?_

_Not fully. I remember walking into the ring, seeing Arthur sitting with Bayard, and our discussion before the fight. __Nothing else makes much sense._

So Merlin told him the whole story, leaving out the part about seeing Aliana with Sir Rodrik before the fight and adding in Arthur's comments about the possibility of another attack, and when it was finished he found he had somehow ended up lying on his back next to Mordred. His left shoulder was suspended in mid-air to avoid pressing too close to his injured side, though the gods knew it would start to ache soon. He was surprised to realise that he didn't mind the closeness, and even more surprised to find that it was actually quite pleasant.

Mordred was silent for so long that Merlin began to think he'd fallen asleep. He jumped a little when the Druid spoke again: _Arthur isn't making it easy for you, is he?_

_Hm? What do you mean?_

_You've been apart for this whole trip, and now there's a possible enemy lurking somewhere in Mercia. It just seems like the worst possible timing._

_I… suppose._ Even speaking in his head couldn't disguise the reaction Merlin's body had to Mordred's callused thumb lightly rubbing the back of his hand. His muscles stiffened just slightly, but it was enough to make Mordred pause.

_My apologies_, he said. _You must think I'm behaving like a frightened child. _He started to retract his hand, but Merlin automatically clutched it tighter.

_I don't mind,_ Merlin said. He felt Mordred's smile through their mental link as he resumed his movements.

Mordred chuckled quietly, a sound that wasn't entirely unpleasant. _You amaze me, Emrys. You do so much for so many, and yet never ask for anything in return._

A warm blush settled on Merlin's cheeks; he was grateful Mordred couldn't see it. _I just like to help people_, he said.

Mordred smiled again, and maybe Merlin was a tiny bit pleased that he could elicit that reaction from him so easily. _It's just one of the many things I admire about you._

_Thank you_.

Mordred didn't reply, and soon the room filled with the sound of soft snores. The grip on his hand relaxed, but Mordred's fingers stayed curled loosely around his, effectively giving Merlin enough of an excuse not to get up and fumble his way through the freezing corridors back to his own bed, which was too big and empty for his liking, anyway. There was the small matter of waking up before anyone else in the castle to prevent any awkward questions being asked, but Merlin found he cared little for such things as a warm fuzziness settled over his body. Soon there was nothing left but the feel of Mordred's hand in his and the sensation of sleep's gentle arms folding around him.

* * *

"Would someone care to explain to me what's going on here?"

Merlin, feeling slightly irritable at being woken up so rudely, cracked his eyes open in order to see who had barged into his room in order to shout at him. As his senses slowly sharpened, it suddenly dawned on him that, first, he wasn't in his room, second, he was in the same bed as _Mordred_ of all people, and third, there were a total of seven faces looming above him, each wearing a slightly different expression: Leon, Elyan and Percival were sniggering, Gwaine's face was strangely blank, Gwen gave him a knowing smile, the physician looked baffled and Arthur was downright incredulous.

Sensing that Merlin wasn't going to save them, Mordred chose that moment to speak up. "Good morning sire. I trust you slept well?"

"Whether _I_ slept well is irrelevant," Arthur spluttered.

Gwen elbowed him in the stomach and smiled kindly at Mordred. "How are you feeling?"

Mordred rubbed his sore shoulder, putting on a good show of looking valiant in the face of his injuries even though he'd been unconscious for two days. "It's just a scratch. I should be fine in a few days."

Merlin made a conscious effort not to roll his eyes. Arthur was still staring at him as though he'd grown another head, and he couldn't help feeling a little smug. Obviously he hadn't expected Merlin to find his way into another's bed so soon. Luckily, his hand had become disentangled from Mordred's sometime during the night. He didn't know how long he would be able to cope with so many people staring at him as it was.

"We were all thrilled when we heard the news." Gwen glanced meaningfully at her husband. "Weren't we, Arthur?"

The king cleared his throat. "Well yes, of course, but -"

"You are very kind, sire." Mordred's smile could have illuminated the whole castle.

Gwen took her husband by the arm and steered him towards the door. "We'll leave you to get some rest. You're in very capable hands." This last was said with a nod at Merlin, whose ears promptly turned pink. The knights filed out of the door after them, still snickering and throwing conspicuous glances over their shoulders.

A moment later, Arthur was back. "Merlin, could I have a word?"

Merlin smiled as pleasantly as he could. "Of course, sire."

Arthur frowned. "A _private_ word," he said, taking Merlin's elbow and ushering him out into the corridor. He folded his arms and fixed him with a stern look. "Are you going to explain what that was all about?"

"There's nothing to explain," said Merlin as he rubbed his sore elbow.

"He's recovering from a serious injury. It's hardly appropriate."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "You're being ridiculous. You _know_ nothing happened."

"Why are you being so defensive? I've got nothing against you having feelings for him. He's a perfectly decent man, and you could hardly force him into your bed if he didn't want to be there."

Merlin did a double take. "Who said anything about _feelings_?" he spluttered, since the alternative _actually, it was Mordred's bed, and he was the one who pulled me down next to him_ sounded a little too petty and also too much like something that wasn't denial.

"No one needed to say it, Merlin."

The king's knowing half-smile was enough for Merlin to consider the possibility that regicide was the answer to all his problems.

"Right. I'm leaving now, Arthur. Believe it or not, I have more important things to be doing than standing around listening to your nonsense."

"I'm sure you do," Arthur called as Merlin put the physician's door safely between them.

Mordred was sitting up in the bed. He quirked an eyebrow as Merlin released the frustrated groan that had been clogging his throat, instantly setting him on edge again. Of course Mordred had been eavesdropping, and not just on the verbal side of the conversation.

_I have to say, I'm a little hurt_, he said. Merlin busied himself with inspecting the variety of glass jars stored in the physician's cupboard, standing with his back squarely facing the Druid._ Are you so ashamed that we spent the night together?_

_You're not exactly helping the situation. _His fingertips skimmed over the cork stoppers until he found what he was looking for. The phial contained a syrupy liquid whose greenish-yellow tinge spoke volumes of its flavour. This would teach him.

Mordred's laugh was soft and disturbingly musical. _You know that was never my intention. _

Merlin smiled sincerely, holding up his prize for Mordred to see. His shrewd expression dissolved into a petulant frown. _What on earth is _that?

"Your medicine," Merlin said cheerfully.

Mordred's eyes took on a saucer-like quality. _You wouldn't. You_ can't_ make me drink that. _He tried to shuffle backwards out of Merlin's reach, but was hindered by the wall and the sheets tangled around his legs. Merlin knelt on the bed beside him, balancing himself with the hand that wasn't holding the potion and using his magic to prise open Mordred's jaw.

"This was a lot easier when you were unconscious."

His mild remark was met with a glare that was more comical than threatening due to the fruitless attempts Mordred was making to shake off the invisible appendage that had a firm grip on his chin.

_You're going to regret this,_ Mordred promised as his head was tipped back and the vile potion poured mercilessly down his throat.

"It's for your own good," Merlin said, echoing the words Gaius had used many a time when persuading unwilling patients to accept whatever vile concoction he offered to cure their ails. He held Mordred's mouth closed as he shuddered and coughed, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he was practically straddling his waist. Eventually his dark head dropped back against the white pillows, and a quiet groan indicated his defeat.

_You'll be the death of me, Emrys._

Merlin gave a nervous laugh – the only thing he could do now that his heart had leapt into his throat and made speaking in a voice that didn't betray him impossible – and scrambled off the bed to search for some clean bandages. He felt the burn of Mordred's eyes on his back and the unspoken question hovering in the air, but refused to acknowledge either as he swallowed against the prickly lump forming in his throat.

As he turned back to the bed and saw Mordred's large, guileless eyes staring into his, he was forced to acknowledge that things were far more complex than either of them realised, and that no, this wasn't going to end well.


	8. Chapter 8

**VII.**

The messenger arrived the following morning.

Bayard's council chamber was small, and for a while it was unclear how all of Mercia's knights and a good portion of Camelot's would fit inside. There was a clear divide between the two halves of the room: blue cloaks dominated the right side, whilst the familiar red and gold took over the left. Bayard lounged in his chair beside Arthur, looking unconcerned by the obnoxious bellowing of the summoning bell that had interrupted his mid-morning meal. He had insisted that Arthur accompany him to the impromptu meeting, and Arthur had no grounds on which to refuse his host. Fortunately Bayard had invited Guinevere; she stood by his side with her hands folded neatly in front of her and her face constructed into a mask of interest that was very convincing indeed.

The temperature in the room rapidly grew uncomfortable as more and more bodies arrived to fill the space. Arthur found himself scanning the room in search of the most familiar. His manservant was currently absent, as was Mordred, who had been discharged by the physician earlier that morning. The duty of aftercare had been placed in Merlin's hands by Arthur himself. He knew his friend was secretly grateful underneath his stuttering protests.

As the echoes of the summoning bell died down, the murmurs that filled the air died with them. Arthur caught sight of Merlin's blue scarf amongst the sea of red. He seemed to pay no heed to the fact that Mordred was unable to keep his eyes from straying to his face for more than a few seconds at a time; Merlin's gaze was fixed intently on Arthur, and when their eyes met he offered a small, encouraging smile. Arthur smiled back, and the doors to the chamber swung open.

The man that Bayard's guards escorted inside was dressed in red and gold. Arthur heard Guinevere breathe in sharply. The row of stained glass windows on the east side filled the chamber with light, allowing Arthur to see the apprehension and faint distress in his knights' expressions as they watched the small procession come to a halt before the Mercian king. Only Gwaine appeared unconcerned, but then Arthur suspected the amount of ale that had passed his lips the night before would be enough to keep him blissfully lightheaded for the next few days.

"What is your business here?" Bayard asked, leaning forward to peer at the man from under his bushy eyebrows. "Speak up."

The messenger bowed low. "I bring an urgent message for my king, sire."

Bayard's forehead wrinkled in surprise. "By all means." He gestured for Arthur to step forward. The man bowed again, this time to Arthur. Arthur quickly waved the formality away now that he had caught sight of the messenger's expression. His stomach twisted with anxiety even as he lifted his chin to address him.

"You bring me news of Camelot?" he asked.

The man nodded. His face was half concealed behind a mop of greasy hair, which he pushed back impatiently as he began to speak. "I'm afraid the news is not pleasant, sire. You must return home at once: Camelot is under attack."

A deathly hush descended over the room. Leon and Percival exchanged horrified glances. Mordred bumped his fingers against Merlin's hand. Merlin flinched away; his face was horribly pale. Guinevere came forward to press her shoulder against Arthur's arm, offering what comfort she could. His hand went to the hilt of his sword; the cool metal was reassuring against his fingertips, allowing the words to come more easily.

"Attack from whom?" he asked, keeping his voice low and calm.

The messenger shook his head. "I cannot say, sire. Many of our people have already been killed. Gaius told me to inform you that he suspects sorcery."

There was a collective gasp from the left side of the room. Bayard regarded him curiously, as though he was analysing his next response. Arthur squared his shoulders, closing his fingers around his sword hilt to keep them from trembling.

"I see," he said. "And it was Gaius who sent you?"

"Yes, m'lord. He urges you to come as quickly as possible."

Arthur nodded, feeling some of his confidence return as his brain began to formulate a plan. "Ride back to Camelot and tell Gaius to do the best he can." He lifted his chin to address his knights. "Gather all your possessions and ready the horses. We leave as soon as possible. The people of Camelot need us."

* * *

After they had all been dismissed from the council chamber, the castle descended into chaos. Merlin fought his way to Arthur's side and was immediately sent down to the stables to help the grooms ready the horses. Arthur's hand lingered on his shoulder a little longer than was necessary as he gave his orders, causing Merlin to forget the direness of the situation until Mordred emerged from the crowd and was instructed to accompany him. The strain of standing through the council meeting had already exhausted him and he looked rather gaunt as Merlin fetched an empty crate from the feed store and propped it against the stable wall for him to sit on. Mordred offered him a grateful smile and promptly closed his eyes, leaving Merlin to collect Llamrei's tack and saddle her in peace.

A short while later, Merlin heard footsteps approaching the stall that housed Guinevere's white stallion. Assuming it was Mordred or one of the stable hands, he continued to wrestle with the stallion's girth strap and almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Oh," Merlin let out a breath, "Aliana, it's you. What can I do for you?"

The serving girl glanced around as though she was afraid someone was listening. Mordred was still sleeping – Merlin could hear his heaving breathing from several yards away.

"I came to warn you," she said in a quiet voice.

Merlin frowned. "Warn me about what?"

"I know of the creature that plagues Camelot." She fidgeted nervously with her hands but kept her earnest gaze level with Merlin's. "It's extremely powerful, and will destroy everything in its path until -"

"Hold on," Merlin said abruptly. It was warm and close inside the stall, but that had little to do with the sweat prickling the skin under his collar. "How do you know this creature is what's attacking Camelot?"

Aliana took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Because… because I am the one who conjured it." She grasped Merlin's hands and gazed up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "I didn't mean it to hurt anyone. Please, you have to believe me."

Merlin carefully extracted himself from her grip. She looked so distraught that his heart began to ache. "I believe you," he said softly. He reached out to her with his magic, seeking to comfort her as best he could. "Just tell me how to destroy it and no one else has to know it was you."

She gave him a small smile. Her magic felt different to Mordred's, more subdued, like she was used to reining it back. Still, it would be foolish for him to deny the power he felt hidden away inside her. "You are very kind, Merlin," she said. "But the creature cannot be destroyed by anyone other than the person who created it."

"Then come with us to Camelot," Merlin urged.

Aliana shook her head. "I cannot travel with you knowing that your master would have me killed."

"You would sooner stay here knowing that countless innocents have died by your hand?"

Merlin's voice had risen to a shout, startling several horses in the nearby stalls. Aliana took several steps back, her eyes round with fear. He took a breath to steady himself and looked her meaningfully in the eye.

"I can't stand by and watch Arthur lose Camelot. If you won't help me, I'll find another way. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to finish saddling these horses."

Aliana's expression was inscrutable as she turned away. Merlin discovered that his hands had balled themselves into fists; he unclenched his fingers one by one, wincing as he examined the deep crescent-shaped marks etched into his skin. He stared at the stall door long after Aliana had exited through it, and was awakened from his thoughts by the sensation of another's power reaching out to him.

_What happened, Emrys?_ Mordred asked inside his head.

Merlin grimaced before he remembered the Druid couldn't see him. _Don't worry, everything's fine. Are you feeling alright?_

_I don't need more of that awful potion, if that's what you're implying._

A chuckle escaped Merlin's lips without his permission. _Who knew a brave and noble knight would be afraid of taking his medicine? Don't worry, I won't tell Arthur._

He felt Mordred's smug smile and knew immediately that he was in trouble. _Speaking of Arthur, here he comes now._

"Merlin? Merlin, where are you?"

The shout scared several birds nesting in the rafters. They chirped and fluttered indignantly as Merlin leaned his head over the door. He caught sight of his king near the entrance to the stables, standing with his hands on his hips. His foot tapped against the stone floor impatiently. Mordred stood a couple of paces behind him, trying unsuccessfully to keep his mouth in a straight line.

"Are the horses ready yet?" Arthur asked.

"Ready and waiting, sire." Merlin internally cursed Mordred for using Arthur as a shield; he couldn't glare at him as he wanted to without the king thinking it was aimed at him.

"Good. Bring them out into the courtyard."

_Coward,_ Merlin thought at him savagely as Arthur turned on his heel and exited the stable block. Mordred only grinned in reply.

* * *

The ride back to Camelot began at midday. They travelled as fast as the dense brush would allow, leaping over tree roots and stumbling through streams to keep up with the furious pace set by Arthur's mare. The wind tore at their clothes and howled in their ears like the screams of a dying city. Merlin's mouth tasted of earth and his vision was blurred by the stinging tears forced from his eyes by the wind's savage fingers. All he could do was cling to his mare's reins for dear life and hope that, at this speed, the impact his body made with a tree trunk would be enough to kill him instantly.

By late afternoon, Arthur was forced to slow Llamrei to a walk. The horses' coats were soaked with sweat and many of them staggered on exhausted legs, slowing the pace right down to a crawl. Merlin watched Gwen reach over and place her hand on Arthur's knee, knowing it would do little to soothe him in his riled state. The knights panted and gasped around him, their cheeks flushed with the thrill of the gallop. He wondered how many of them had feared for their lives as he had. Not one of them would care to admit it.

Though he was fairly sure he didn't want to, Merlin glanced furtively at Mordred. The deathly pallor of his skin took him by surprise; the Druid looked on the verge of collapse and yet he had uttered not a single word of complaint. His magic responded feebly as Merlin reached out to soothe him, and the smile Mordred offered in thanks was little more than a slight quirk of his lips.

_Are you alright?_ Merlin asked. The connection was stable but weak; the effort of keeping it open was probably having a horrendous impact on Mordred's condition.

_Never better. _His reply sounded like it was coming from very far away, but Mordred still managed to sound cheerful. He was hunched right over in the saddle, his face mere inches from the horse's mane. _It's been a while since my horsemanship was tested like this._

_You need to rest,_ Merlin insisted, drawing his horse to a halt. _Now._

_I'm fine, Emrys. Really, I'm –_

Merlin was too slow to dismount and catch him as he fell. His magic reacted faster than his limbs, creating a cushion of air beneath him to stop his body colliding with the ground. Merlin slipped his arms under his shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position, letting his head fall against his neck as he inspected the bandages. They were soaked through with blood.

The sound of hoofbeats drew his head up to see Gwaine, Leon and Percival trotting back towards them.

"Oi, Merlin! What on earth are you -" Gwaine's smirk faded as his dark eyes fell on the form cradled in Merlin's arms. "Oh. That's not good."

"I'll fetch Arthur," Leon said, spinning his horse around before the last word had even left his mouth. Gwaine and Percival each took one of Mordred's arms, lifting him easily. They carried him off the road and set him down against a tree trunk as Merlin retrieved the horses.

"He's burning up," Percival informed him as Merlin dropped to his knees beside the Druid. "I'll get some water."

By this time Leon had returned with Arthur and the rest of the party in tow. Arthur took one look at Merlin's face and announced that this would be their resting place for the night. He laid a hand briefly on Merlin's head before turning away to hand out orders concerning the construction of the campsite. Gwen appeared a few moments later with Percival, each of them carrying an armful of water skins.

"How long has he been like this?" Gwen asked, handing Merlin a damp cloth. She held Mordred's head in her lap and stroked his hair as Merlin pressed the scrap of linen against the boy's flushed skin.

Merlin shook his head. "He should have said something earlier. I should have realised he was in pain."

Gwen rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "Merlin, we were travelling too fast for you to have heard him even if he did say something. It's not your fault."

Mordred mumbled something in his sleep, turning his head towards Merlin's hand where it was pressed against his cheek. He was so pale, like a ghost, and his eyes were shadowed with ugly purple bruises.

"Here, let me." Gwen gently pried the cloth from Merlin's frozen fingers. "You'd better see to those bandages."

Between the two of them they managed to get Mordred's temperature under control. They emptied most of the water skins and exhausted Merlin's supply of herbal paste, which he spread over the weeping gash in Mordred's side before wrapping it in fresh strips of linen. Mordred whimpered when he'd touched the torn edges of his skin, and Merlin could have sworn he caught snatches of his name – his true name – amongst the other garbled nonsense that spilled from the Druid's lips. Gwen had the courtesy not to comment, but Merlin could feel her curious gaze prickling his flesh whilst he pretended to inspect the contents of the medicine bag.

"How is he?" Arthur asked a short while later. He had somehow managed to change out of his armour without Merlin's assistance, and in his hands were two wooden bowls that smelled of something hot and delicious.

"He'll be fine for now," Merlin said. He struggled to his feet with considerable difficulty, battling the stiffness in his joints and the cramping in his muscles. Arthur pushed one of the bowls at him and Merlin's stomach growled, but he shook his head. "I'll eat later. We need some more water in case Mordred gets worse during the night."

"You don't even know if there's a stream near here," Arthur protested.

Merlin tapped his finger against his temple. "As I keep trying to tell you, Arthur, I'm smarter than I look."

"At least take someone with you. I don't want you getting yourself lost this close to nightfall."

"I'll take Gwaine," Merlin said, gesturing to the knight who, conveniently, had just wandered over to check on Mordred. "If we're not back in two hours, you can start worrying."

Unbeknownst to Arthur, Merlin knew _exactly_ where the nearest source of water was. He had searched the forest with his mind's eye whilst Gwen was preoccupied with Mordred, and had discovered a lake about half a mile east of their campsite. The journey was straightforward enough, especially since his magic provided him with a map that would lead him straight there and back. He stuffed a shoulder bag with the water skins and set off with Gwaine, leaving Arthur to stare incredulously after him as though he had completely lost his mind.

As Merlin had suspected, his mind's eye led them to the shore of the lake in just under half an hour. Gwaine chattered mindlessly as they walked, but for once Merlin didn't mind. The silence of the forest was starting to creep under his skin. Gwaine's voice took took the edge off the chill in his heart, but Merlin couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

"This place gives me a weird feeling," Gwaine said as Merlin knelt on the shore and dipped his hand in the cool water. "It's like, I don't know, like I know something's about to happen, but I don't know what it is or when it's going to happen."

Merlin knew exactly what he meant, but he forced his mouth into a grin and shrugged his shoulders. "You're just being paranoid. Stop talking nonsense and help me with these."

"Yes, your Highness," Gwaine said mockingly.

Merlin laughed. "Glad to see you're back to your normal self."

"What do you mean?" Gwaine picked up a water skin and inspected it closely.

The sense of foreboding grew stronger as Merlin turned to look at him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "You just seemed to be acting strangely whilst we were in Mercia. You certainly drank a great deal of ale. Maybe that was what scrambled your brain."

"Maybe."

The water lapped rhythmically against the band of silt that separated the lake from the shore. The dying sunlight turned the ends of Gwaine's hair to threads of gold. His knuckles were white, like his fingers might escape from under his skin. Something was wrong. Merlin heard his own shallow breaths rattling in his chest and his knees began to tremble as he slowly stood up.

It was then that Gwaine finally looked at him, torment raging in the depths of his eyes like the ocean during a storm.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I truly, truly am."

The forest exploded with noise. An invisible wall slammed into Merlin's chest, flipping him over to land heavily on his back. White hot agony pierced his mind like an arrow, then there was nothing but darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**VIII.**

Mordred awoke to the murmuring of voices. He blinked hard, trying to focus on the face looming above him. A firm hand on his chest stilled him as he tried to sit up. After several moments of blinking and squinting, the queen's eyes swam into focus.

"Slow down, Mordred. You need to rest."

"Wh – what -"

"You fell off your horse," Gwen said. "Luckily Merlin was there, otherwise I fear we would have gone on without you."

Mordred didn't acknowledge her rueful smile; the emptiness in his head felt wrong. "Where's Merlin?"

Something like panic crossed Gwen's face, but it was gone before Mordred could decide whether he had imagined it. "He went with Gwaine to fetch some water. He'll be back soon."

He nodded vaguely. His whole body felt heavy, but his insides ached for an entirely different reason. The absence of Emrys' magic made him feel like he was back in that arctic wasteland, struggling to cope without the comfort and love of his fellow Druids. He had felt his heat, the slow burn of an unwavering flame surrounded by snow, and it filled him with hope. Now it was gone, and he was a child again, lost in a world he didn't understand.

"How is he?"

The voice belonged to Arthur, but the king was little more than a black silhouette lit only by the small fire. He crouched beside Guinevere and laid his cool hand on Mordred's forehead.

"He's burning up."

"His fever's getting worse again," Gwen said quietly.

Mordred let his eyes roll back into his head and tuned out their conversation. His mental strength was in tatters; it was doubtful he would be able to reach Emrys even if he was still close by. He wouldn't just wander off and leave him here - not whilst Camelot faced the threat of ruin and Arthur's control was fraying as a result of his anxiety. Emrys wouldn't abandon Arthur, no matter how badly he treated him or how much Emrys suffered as a result of his ignorance.

"Stay with us, Mordred." Gwen's voice again, breaking into his thoughts. "You need to eat something to get your strength up. There's still a long ride ahead."

With a complacency led by exhaustion rather than obedience, Mordred allowed himself to be propped against a tree and spoon fed a bowl of hot broth. Gwen pushed his hair back from his face and wiped his chin like a mother might, but still Mordred missed the tingle that warmed his skin wherever Emrys touched it. He pushed the bowl away before it was half empty, forcing his mouth into a smile to show Gwen his gratitude. Her eyes seemed to understand; she took the bowl away without a word and returned with an armful of blankets. Arthur wandered up behind her, tugging at the strands of his fair hair as he stared off into the trees.

"They should be back by now." Gwen put a hand on his arm, but Arthur barely seemed to notice. "I shouldn't have let them go. They could be in real danger."

"You don't know that," Gwen murmured consolingly. "They could be on their way back as we speak."

"If they're not back by morning…" He trailed off as his eyes caught Mordred's. His expression was twisted with pain.

Ignoring the burning in his side, Mordred turned away from the king's tormented eyes and curled tightly in on himself. He could still hear them whispering; their voices faded to an insignificant buzz as he buried his face in the thin pillow.

_Emrys, where are you?_

There was no reply, only hollow echoes and a vast, cold emptiness. Mordred burrowed beneath the blankets, tearing himself apart to drown out the silence.

It seemed he had barely drifted off before Gwen was gently shaking him awake. The others were already folding their bedrolls and loading their saddlebags; Arthur oversaw the proceedings with his front teeth buried in his bottom lip so deeply that blood welled to the surface. He looked pale and drawn; Mordred wondered if he'd gotten any sleep at all.

The queen checked over his injuries before helping him onto his horse. It was a slow and painful process that caused patches of darkness to fleck Mordred's vision. Once he was seated and one hand firmly tucked under the pommel of the saddle, he glanced over his shoulder into the dimly-lit trees. Something stirred deep in his abdomen, seeming to pull him in the opposite direction to where the horses' noses were pointing. His stallion shifted beneath him as he closed his fingers around the reins.

A bolt of pain shot through his temple. The cry that burst from his lips startled his mount, but the stallion's whinny didn't reach his ears. A high, keening wail blocked out the sounds of the men around him, and a black fog descended over his eyes. Beneath the scream reverberating off the walls of his mind, a soft voice began to speak in tones that dripped poison.

"Well well Emrys, I have to say I'm disappointed. You made this far too easy for me."

"What do you want from me?" Mordred's heart gave a violent thud of recognition: _Emrys_. It was Emrys' voice. "I have nothing to give you."

The mystery speaker let out a bark of hollow laughter that made Mordred cringe. "I'd hoped kidnapping you would present me with more of a challenge, great sorcerer that you are."

"Who are you?"

The blood in Mordred's veins was ice-cold. Beneath the defiant overtones, Emrys' voice trembled with fear. He tried to fight against the black curtain that obstructed his view, but it was as useless as trying to push aside shadows. He heard the scuffle of leather soles on a stone floor and the rustle of expensive silk, followed a second later by the unmistakeable clank of metal chains.

"Someone who has waited a long time for this opportunity. I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy this immensely."

The air was suddenly too thick to breathe, and Emrys' strong voice trembled. "What are you -"

"Mordred!"

Sunlight pierced the veil over his eyes as he was wrenched back to reality. Arthur's hand gripped his thigh; his bright eyes were inches from Mordred's face, wide and brimming with a brotherly concern that Mordred knew he would never get used to.

"I'm fine, my lord." He was breathing hard; the sword wound beneath his ribcage protested against the rapid undulations of his chest. His hand went automatically to cover it and Arthur's eyes followed the movement, his eyebrows pulling together over his nose.

"You almost passed out." Arthur's hand was very warm; it burned his skin even through his breeches. The chill in his veins had spread through his body, leaving him quivering in the warm sun. "Guinevere will do all she can for you, but you must go and see Gaius as soon as we return to Camelot."

The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "But sire, what about Merlin?"

Arthur suddenly couldn't look him in the eye. He cleared his throat as though he feared his next words would betray him. "We'll be ready to leave in a few minutes. Can you still ride?"

Mordred nodded, turning his head away before Arthur could see the moisture in his eyes. The scorching pressure on his leg briefly increased before disappearing altogether. He felt his shoulders sag under an immense weight that seemed to grow heavier with each unsteady beat of his heart.

"You mustn't think badly of him." Gwen drew her horse up beside Mordred's and nodded towards Arthur. Her expression was full of so much compassion that it made Mordred's chest ache just to look at her. "He's only doing what he believes is right. I know that you know he has no other choice."

Mordred felt himself thaw a little. "I do know that. Of course I do."

Gwen reached over and placed her hand on his knee. "Don't worry, Mordred. Arthur would never leave Merlin behind."

* * *

As soon as Arthur and Gwen set foot inside the citadel, a crowd of townspeople swarmed around their horses; their frightened, anxious voices mingled into a senseless babble, and it took several minutes before they were persuaded to move back. Gaius appeared a second later, which was just as well since Mordred was once again hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. He felt the strong arms of Leon and Percival lift him down from his horse, and it seemed only seconds later that he was lying on the bed in Gaius' chambers as the old man inspected his wounds.

"You've been very fortunate," he said. "There is no sign of infection, though your injuries are far from healed."

"My fortune is thanks to Merlin. He was the one who cared for me." His weak smile contorted into a wince as Gaius' invasive fingers prodded his tender shoulder.

"Is that so?" Mordred had the feeling that Gaius could somehow see right through him – it wasn't unlike the way he felt when Merlin looked at him. "Well, be sure to thank him. Where is he, anyway? I didn't see him with you when you arrived."

His throat was suddenly too tight. "Arthur didn't tell you?"

Gaius paused halfway between the bed and his workbench. "Tell me what?"

Mordred shook his head, wincing as the pain flared in his side. He pressed his fingers over the bandage and they came away bloody. He could feel the size and shape of the gash Sir Rodrik's blade had made in his side – it was the only part of his body that didn't feel horribly numb. He barely noticed the sting of the salve Gaius applied to the wound, or the scratchiness of the linen as he applied fresh bandages.

"The bleeding will eventually stop," Gaius said as he checked over his handiwork. "But only if you avoid any strenuous movement for a few days."

That was enough to pull Mordred out of his hazy stupor. "I can't rest, Gaius, not until Merlin has returned safely."

Gaius sat back in his chair. "You still haven't told me where he is." He folded his arms as though he was preparing to scold him, and Mordred knew he had no choice but to tell the truth.

"I saw him," he said, avoiding the physician's eyes and instead staring up at the ceiling. "In my mind. It was some kind of vision, or maybe a premonition. I don't know how it happened, or -"

"Mordred slow down, you're not making much sense." Gaius started to get to his feet. "Hold on a moment, I'll fetch something to help calm you down."

"No!" The word burst from his mouth with such force that Gaius immediately sat back down. The bandages constricted around his torso as he filled his lungs with air. He let it out slowly, not trusting himself to speak again until the connection between his brain and his mouth was somewhat stable. He tried again, forcing his voice to remain steady. "I don't know how to explain it, but I know what I saw. Or rather, what I _heard_. The vision was completely dark, like something was obstructing my view."

"Tell me what you heard," Gaius encouraged.

Mordred screwed his face up, trying to remember. He could recall the exact tone of both Merlin and the other speaker's voices and the way they had made his skin crawl, but fatigue had made the words a jumbled mess. "I don't think it was much of a conversation…"

"There was someone else there? Who?"

"I don't know. I've been trying to match the voice to a face, but every time I get close to succeeding I start to feel faint and everything gets mixed up again." He dug his teeth into the inside of his cheek, using the sting of pain to distract him from the wave of frustration that threatened to overcome him.

"Perhaps this person is using magic," Gaius suggested, "To prevent us from working out exactly what happened."

Mordred turned his head to look at him. There was no mistaking the affectionate undertone to his voice when he spoke the warlock's name. He felt his own heart swell a little with empathy, and his next words came out a little throaty. "He's in trouble, Gaius. I can feel it. I think that vision was a call for help."

Gaius nodded. His face was surprisingly calm, but his eyes sparkled in such a way that Mordred was convinced he knew _something_. "Have you told Arthur about any of this?"

"Of course not. He would never believe me. Besides, his first duty is to Camelot." He couldn't stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice as he spoke. If Gaius picked up on it, he had the good grace to refrain from making a comment.

"Quite right," said the old man. "He has enough to worry about at the moment."

"What of this creature?" Mordred asked, relieved to steer the conversation away from Arthur. "Have you seen it?"

Gaius shook his head. "I'm afraid anyone who has seen it is unable to tell us anything. All we know is that the attacks only take place at night, and the manner of killing is something only a creature of magic could be capable of."

Mordred only realised he was gripping the bedsheets in his fists when his knuckles began to ache. "Is there a way to stop it?"

Gaius' expression turned dark. Mordred dropped his head back against the pillow with a quiet groan. "We need to get Merlin back."

"Yes, and quickly," Gaius agreed. "However," he added as Mordred began to ease himself into a sitting position, "I must insist you stay here. You won't be of any use to anyone until the fainting spells have eased up."

"But -"

"Arthur will have my head if he finds out I let one of his best knights go wandering off into the woods alone whilst still recovering from a sword injury," Gaius said firmly.

"I may be the only one who can find him," Mordred pointed out, failing to prevent his voice pitch from rising.

"The knights have a great deal of experience in hunting people down," said Gaius. "I'm sure they'll manage without you."

"What if Arthur wants them all to stay here?"

"The king isn't completely heartless, Mordred. He won't leave Merlin out there alone."

Whatever Mordred had intended to say in reply was cut off by a knock at the door, and Gaius had barely lifted the latch before three breathless knights tumbled into the room. They all wore muddy boots and cloaks stained with the furious flight from Mercia. They barely gave Gaius a chance to open his mouth before turning to face the bed that Mordred was currently occupying.

"We're going to find Merlin and Gwaine," said Leon.

"And we'd like you to come with us," added Percival.

"Only if Gaius gives his permission, of course," finished Elyan, smiling winningly at the aforementioned physician.

Gaius' eyebrow crept dangerously close to his hairline as he regarded each of the trio in turn. For a moment it seemed as though he was considering knocking their heads together, but he seemed to decide against it. "Has Arthur given you _his_ permission to leave Camelot whilst its people are in need?" he asked sternly.

"But of course," said Leon. "In fact he was the one who suggested it." He turned his head to wink at Mordred. "He would come with us himself if he weren't needed here."

Gaius still looked suspicious. "And where is Sir Gwaine? Didn't he volunteer to go with you?"

The three knights glanced at each other. "He went missing at the same time as Merlin," said Elyan. "The two of them went to find water and never returned to camp."

"I see," said Gaius. His expression was unfathomable as he turned to glance at Mordred. "Well, if Arthur suggested it, then I suppose -"

"We'll look after him," Elyan said earnestly. "He'll be perfectly safe."

Gaius sighed in resignation, though Mordred was sure he saw fondness in the physician's eyes. "Make sure you all come back safely. Merlin and Gwaine included."

The three knights nodded solemnly. After a small amount of struggling and several yelps of pain Mordred managed to get himself off the bed and dressed in his cloak and chainmail, and with a final once over from Gaius was discharged from the physician's quarters for the second time in as many days.

As they waited for the stable boys to prepare fresh mounts, Percival placed a large paw on Mordred's shoulder. "Not a word about this to Arthur, alright?"

"I thought Leon said he gave you permission to leave the citadel?" Mordred squeaked.

"We had to say something to get the old man to let you go," Elyan said good-naturedly.

"And if Arthur notices we're gone?"

"I've told him we're riding out to the outlying villages to see if we can gather some more information on this creature that everyone's talking about," Leon said, suddenly appearing from inside the stable block with a set of reins in each hand. He flashed Mordred a grin. "Don't worry, I'm sure His Royal Highness can manage without us for one night. Besides, our friends need us."

Mordred eyed Leon dubiously, but accepted the reins he offered him without another word. The tugging sensation had returned, reminding him of the fear in Merlin's voice as he was taunted by his captor. For the first time since he had met the warlock, he envied those who were oblivious to the shining mass of power that radiated from Merlin's core. They were merely concerned with getting their friend safely home, whereas Mordred felt utterly helpless now that Camelot stood bare and vulnerable without the protection of Merlin's magic blanketing the stone. If they didn't find Merlin soon, Camelot would stand little chance against the phantom beast that prowled the streets after dusk.

"Hurry up, Mordred!" Elyan called over his shoulder. He and the others were already heading across the bridge to the lower town, moving at a brisk pace that echoed off the stonework. Mordred urged his horse after them, leaving Camelot behind without a backwards glance.


End file.
